Good for him. My husband, The Medium Swede, signed up for the annual 5K race with his three running mates, three of the four a bit unfit, soft in the middle, 40-something year-old men. I give them a lot of credit. They get up three days a week, meet out in front of our house at 6am, run a few miles, come back and chat like a bunch of women at a coffee clatch. Our next door neighbor doesn't participate in the run. He has to get to work at his funeral home. We think that he secretly drives out of sight, a bit behind the group hoping to pick up his next client when one of them drops.
So, again, they sign up for this year's run. They laugh about it while drinking beer the night before, joking about carb loading. We get home and, exhausted from the fourth of July activities, he heads upstairs with the intention of watching a little TV, having a snack, and going to sleep. The race begins early so I miss him leaving the house. I wake, work around the house a bit and head upstairs to make our bed. I notice the empty bag next to a glass full of cherry pits. I say to myself, "What kind of idiot eats an entire bag of cherries the night before running a race?" I clean it up and go on my way.
Click on the link to see what happened next...
The Medium Swede
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