don't surprise me like that

ran into kel this morning at the Y. even at that hour of the day, when vampires aren’t yet nervous, she's cute as a button and scintillatingly engaging, whereas i’m still moving through the sludge of sleep. only the dull are brilliant at breakfast i reminded myself, taking some solace in wilde, who i’m sure was brilliant at every meal.

- how did you feel after sunday? did you know they had you listed as a male at first? – she asked.

- yeah, funny. and i was SORE. i’m STILL sore. how 'bout you?

- i’m not sore at ALL.

- wow. – i was impressed, but that wasn’t the proper response.

- i don't have one ache to complain about, so i SUCK. i guess i just didn’t go hard enough.

personally, i’d be thrilled to have quads that don’t scream every time i descend stairs or lower my ass onto a toilet seat, but runners are quirky people. kel always runs with headphones, for one. fisch prevailed upon her to give them up during track workouts, but she still races with them; therefore i can creep up and sit on her shoulder for 200m, assessing her sitch by the sound of her breathing whilst she’s totally oblivious, and then pass her. at the end she’ll ask me, as she did sunday, where did you come from? -as though i'd dropped down in a meteor shower.

see, if kel had a jukebox in her head like i do, she’d KNOW where i came from, or maybe she wouldn’t let me pass her at all. for the 90min of racing on sunday i was clicked into a perfect circle’s “pet," footfalls in time with counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums. i couldn’t have planned it better. 'course, the jukebox doesn’t take requests, and there’ve been times when i’ve raced to “the littlest worm” and the theme from The Godfather and those races last a fucking eternity.

- hmmm, i don’t think it’s an issue of sucking. maybe your post-race recovery was just really effective.

- no, i think it’s an issue of sucking. you know, i saw fischer afterward and he said, “kel, you looked… emotionally stressed.” and i thought, how do you know that? how can you see that when i’m wearing sunglasses?

- maybe that’s what 20 years of coaching affords ya: the ability to recognise when your runners are stressed. you looked fine to me.

- well thanks -she said glumly as she slipped into the water.

denise tells me she just got engaged, that her doctor man knocked her off her feet by proposing in front of their running club at the annual awards dinner. he set her up to present an award he received, calling on her to announce the plaque she was handing over, a plaque with a strip of tape she had to peel off before reading aloud, “will you marry me.”

don’t ever fucking do that shit to me, unless you seriously want to see emotionally stressed. not in public. IMO that constitutes unreasonable pressure, mental arm-twisting, unless you two’ve discussed it beforehand and all parties come to an understanding that the answer is yes yes a thousand times yes, in which case get a fucking room and have done with it. these public proposals, where we bear witness and become your extended family, really tear my knitting.

but at least my quads don’t feel so sore now.