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bloody nipples, poopy pants, sarcastic animal raping non-exercisers, I just got asked to come and massage pre and post event, but, I don't know "ALLYA'LL" seem a bit . . . all right with me, Yee Haw, see ya'll in Nashville. I LIVE HERE!!!! Bring you live stock. They have a 'nother use for sheep in Kentucky now. . . WOOL!!!

Need a parter to do the music city marathon with

i need some help....Im training for the half marathon.... my feet and knees are starting to bother me. any suggestions as to a store that i can have my feet analized and a "type" of shoe recommended?

Anybody have info on a marathon in the Poconos in May 2006?

I was there! Running! Not really! Running, I mean. I was there, Mile #4 water station, right off of Music Row. One of the perks of being employed at the NCVB is that I am "strongly encouraged" to volunteer each year at the Marathon. It always ends up being lots of fun, but getting my ass up at 4:30 Saturday morning fucked my flow all up. I'm still recovering.

Wish I had known you were coming out. We coulda met up for 10am bourbon fun.

My dad ran in the 3rd Annual OKC Memorial Marathon yesterday. And he's 56. He finished in just over four and a half hours. I'm quite sure I couldn't bike 26 miles in four and a half hours, but oh well. He too has told me about seeing numerous bloody nipples. It hurts to think about. I'll have to ask him about pant-shitting though.

naw, I only date livestock after my brother's finished with them. What else are younger siblings for?

My Southern-ness tends to come out more in my speech than my writing, anyway.

Well, that and his prediliction towards handguns and livestock dating...

ah, sorry to jump the gun. My Southern-ness tends to come out more in my speech than my writing, anyway. (And usually it's when I'm drunk, tired, or homesick; my accent's not real strong.)

I wasn't implying you had made fun of me. But that ya shouldn't.

I had no idea you were a southerner.

Hell no, I'm not making fun of you! I'm from NC and use it myself.

(Besides, language without regional differences is boring.)

I love me a search challenge. In fact, I wish I could have a running history of all the searches I run throughout my life. That would probably make for some scary reading. Anyway, looks like it does happen:

At about 20 or so miles, I
noticed that passing gas helped. Unfortunately, at 23 miles, it was not
gas that came out (yuck!)

Via a thread on rec.running

I'm way guilty of the occasional "might could."

You might could not make fun of me for it either.

"Scared deep" *does* sound Southern, nowthatIthinkufit. It's almost as good as "might could."

Also jealous of his skinny-ass. That is so not fair.


And j-po: I read that the first couple of times as "scared deep." It sounded so Southern and not-quite right. Now I know why. Because I can't read s'gud.

I'm just jealous of JonMC's metabolism. Bastid.

There's some sort of nipple protector runners can get so they won't finish races with bloody nipples. I don't remember what they're called (and I am SO NOT gonna search for "bloody nipple prevention" while I'm at work.)

People who physically exert themselves when they are not being paid or getting laid are nuts.

My only excercise consists of 12-oz curls and I am stll a svelte 180 at 6' 1".

Also joggers should be hooked up to treadmills and forced to produce electricity. I see joggers on my lunch hour! In New York. Why don't they spend their lunch hours in bars like sensible people?

I remember when the Ironman triathlon was getting big, and Wide World of Sports covered it. One of the women finished the race with shitty drawers. The commentators tried to dance around the issue, euphemisms flying everywhere. I was just a kid, and I remember when I realized what they were talking about. It scarred me. Scarred me deep.

Klaus talks as if he hasn't been here long.

The bodies of those who push themselves far beyond the limits of conditioning... do amazing and - yes - appalling things.

Your use of "done been punched" leaves me homesick for a place far different than that in which I live.

Gentler congratulations are due, I might add, that you hauled yourself to Nashville at an ungodly hour of the morning... and managed to arrive with your caboose still attached, crusty eyes and all.

This is by far the most brilliant piece of reportage I have yet found on this site.

I laughed hard enough to shit myself in lieu of those runners who did not.

I celebrate you, Brittney.

This Bud's for you.