Here are two events which I fully intended to blog about, but somehow never managed to get to.
Running with the Devil
Today I managed to get back to running after nearly a two week hiatus. It was quite difficult, as usual, but the endorphins sure do feel good now. I think I burned out for a couple of weeks because: a) I always do after a few days/weeks/months of good effort, and b) I think I was rather pushing myself pretty hard before a 5k I did with friends on March 24th.
I arrived at the 5k site in Tower Grove park, which was not quite as flat as I remembered whilst driving through it (memory of the hills on a route is so subjective depending on whether you are driving a car, riding a bike, or running), to discover the number that I had been assigned was….Well, you can see it in the picture below. I said to the woman rather lightly that that was a rather inauspicious number. She asked if I wanted a different one, but I said that it wasn’t a problem and that I would go ahead and wear the Mark-o-the-Beast.
Now, if you are a brother or a close friend, you may be sniggering right about now because you remember my phobia when I was growing up that I was predestined to grow up be the Anti-Christ and my obessive fear of the number “6.” Oh, go ahead and laugh. It’s funny. Not so much when I was kid though. You can’t be too careful what sort of movies you let your kids see. A combination of obsessive compulsive tendencies (yeah, ask me about it) combined with, I am sure, a well-meant, but terrifying viewing, of The Thief in the Night at boarding school, combined with perhaps some genuine spiritual oppression, and, well, you have one fearful child. But, seriously, if you ever see me amassing large amounts of political power, I think you know what you should do.
Getting back to the race though, evidently the number didn’t help my manners. Here’s me running off-course, past some nice ladies who were walking the course. What can I say, the Devil made me do it. In the background you can just see Claire, of Reason’s Why fame, and to the left Joel Chappeau and Dave Lim.

Dave was not running officially but came to spur us on to love and good works. As for the race, well, having gone out a bit too fast, I had to walk for about twenty yards. Still, I managed what was for me a very respectable time of 29 minutes flat. Yeah, and then dehydration and burnout, but still it was worth it. And while I was gasping across the finish line, the woman who had registered me said:
“And the Devil finishes!”
Nice.
Not by Bread Alone
So, first a little background. On Sunday afternoons, oh about ever other week, a group of us from church gather for a potluck. Our group is called The Flying P.L.A.T.E.S(S) People Living Apart Together Eating Something (Sundays). I know, I know, but just go with it, OK? Actually, it is a wonderful time where we have good food and good conversations, which are interrupted with an official ice-breaker type question for everyone to answer, so that people will talk to one another. Go figure. Actually, the questions are fun and instructive too.
At any rate, I send out an Evite for each event and sometimes come up with the theme. The theme for April 1st was a barbecue, and since the meat was being provided, people were to bring sides, salads, desserts, etc. etc. Well, the aforementioned day arrived, and I hurriedly got to the house where we were eating and lit the fire and got things going, running in and out of the house like some type of Martha, of Bethany or Stewart fame, it doesn’t matter. And people kept showing up with bread. And, I, totally obllivious, kept having them put it on the table. People were amused that everyone had brought bread and joked about it a bit. I did too (ha, ha) but inwardly was getting rather nervous at our carb-loaded and boring lunch. Here is the pile pointed out by none other than the author of Flakjammit.

Now, you think I would have realized. But, no. I ran in and out, outwardly laughing, inwardly getting a little flustered, whilst the schemers sat outside enjoying the lovely day and their devious little plan.

In my prayer, I even humorously thanked God for all the bread and then reminded myself to be thankful for all our blessings in any case. It was not until just as everyone lined up to eat and I stood host-and-Martha-like at the end of the table that they revealed their prank. Honestly, it took them telling me a couple of times to understand what had just happened, as folks went out to get their real dishes.
Nicely done.
And, then, if that were not enough, they knew just how to push my buttons further. I asked for ideas for a question from the table and some suggested, “Let’s go around and each tell what is our favorite body part is on the opposite sex.” And true to form, just as those who know my prudish and dictator-like (benign not malignant) tendencies had predicted, I interjected something like, “No, I don’t think we should do that one.” Joke part two. I heard that in the planning stages for the ruse, at a party the night before, there were some even spicier suggestions than this. But I will leave that to the co-conspirators to mention in their comments if they wish.
Groan. I am gullible. And here I thought I was so aware and sophisticated.