In One Year and Out the Other

Actually, I wanted to title this posting "In One Era and Out the Other", with a nod to humorist Sam Levenson, of course. But the transition from 2007 into 2008 – we’ve almost made it through this millennium’s first decade, folks! – was hardly an epochal leap.

Of course, unlike some New Year’s Eves, I wasn’t sleeping through this one… I quite literally did not take it lying down!

I mentioned on the last of the year – a week ago, already, this past Monday – that brother Sarge had twisted my arm lightly and persuaded me to take in a two-mile run out on the periphery of Pennsylvania Dutch country, near the large town of York, as the year closed out. (York’s not far from Harrisburg; you older-timers would remember that area for the Three Mile Island (or TMI) near-meltdown back in 1979.) We’d be joined by my sister-in-law-in-law, Choggun-Nunim, who generally goes along when he’s out working up a sweat in the midst of a herd of runners, up to and including maratha (the plural of "marathon", people – don’t you know any Greek?).

It was a pleasant, couple-hour drive there… and the night promised to be quite cold, so I had on my running shorts and shirt under my jeans and thick flannel, plus my best running shoes. On the way there, one bank clock/thermometer was suggesting the temperature as about 32°F (0°C for the entire rest of the world). Still, my brother’s brute-force, black-and-white Marine approach of "Why not?" had caught hold, and I was committed.

This had been billed as a "fun run" – a new concept for me, and one I’d have concluded was oxymoronic, like "jumbo shrimp", or "kosher ham". But, as the officials explained to us during the signup, the stress was on the "fun" part – no official posting of completion-times, and so on… which was fine by me.

"Fun" meant, especially, costumed runners! Well… why not? Here are some of the characters who ran with us (most were twenty-somethings, though there were kids and senior citizens):

• Speaking of senior citizens, a youngish gal with a thick grey granny-wig, colonial-style cap, wireframe glasses, and (under her generous homespun) a huge posterior to which a hapless stuffed Jack-Russell terrier was fastened, as though sat on and suffocated;

• And speaking of dogs, two or three people were geared up as beagles – complete with doggie-snouts, flappy ears, and irregular tan and brown patches;

• Another youngish gal with flappy ears; she had pill bottles attached all over her sweats, and a hand-written sign on back: "I’m Sick as a Dog!";

• A father-and-daughter cowboy pair, both in full regalia (except, sensibly, their cockroach-killers): she with grin and twisted, battered cowboy hat; he with full (genuine) red beard, excellent stetson, a bandana (which he wore over his face as the run began), and a coil of rope;

• Another couple, these in well-inflated sumo wrestler-costumes: she dressed as a he-sumo, and he as a she-sumo, complete with tutu, in his case – and both had to turn sideways to get out the door of the community center where we’d converged before and after the race;

• One more twenty-something pair: I spotted them just before we started; he was trim and in very good shape (my daughters would have been drooling), and wearing absolutely nothing but his sneaks, socks, and very skimpy shorts, to which were attached several… leaves? He was grinning, and jumping up and down to stay warm, since by this point (ten till midnight) it had to be no more than +28°F/-2°C. (I spotted a dusting of snow in a couple yards later on.) His, uh, running-mate was one lovely young eyeful: she was also similarly skimpily attired (below and above) in almost-nothing-to-the-imagination, plus leaves here and there – I found out later that they’d gone as Adam and (New Year’s) Eve!;

• A fellow with a mustache and shaved head, in full business suit and tie (though sneakers instead of wingtips); I ran behind him for a bit, and noticed he’d added a red cape and devil’s-horns… and pitchfork. The early part of the race had us coursing through the crowds on the square downtown, and quite a lot of the people cheering us on held out their hands so Satan could give them a merry slap on the way past! I chatted him up for a while after the race, and it turns out (I couldn’t see from behind) that the horns were part of a rubber George W. Bush mask; he’d even written on his cape "W for Eternity"… that would be Hell!;

• Another fellow, who turned out to be one of the co-organizers of the event, had on snug pink satin shorts and matching camisole; he’d strategically dropped a pair of oranges into the camisole to complete the ensemble… I’m guessing he was a, uh, drag racer;

• And, finally, there were three guys each wrapped in grey-painted cardboard, holes cut for faces and arms. I thought they were, for whatever reason, supposed to be running cigarettes or cigars, and – I quipped to another runner – they’d be getting shorter as the race progressed. Nope. Someone explained to me that they were, in fact, three of the TMI cooling towers! In fact, running beside them were three more men, these dressed in orange jumpsuits, obviously nuclear-emergency technicians… and one was carrying a geiger counter!!

I had never giggled so hard while running.

I did keep on my flannel and jeans, and windbreaker (it was cold), so I hardly looked the part of a runner, either – but no way, with the above company, could I have considered myself costumed.

Well, so what?

I’ll tell you so what – that little York County town had more steep hills on our two-mile, winding-through-downtown-at-midnight trail, than I’ve seen anywhere this side of (photos of) San Francisco! Downhill, yeah, gravity was in my favor… but uphill, I trudged, limped, and panted.

Some folks – including Adam and Eve – managed to finish in under eleven minutes; your truly – embarrassed-but-defiant blush – crossed the line a bit after twenty-seven minutes, well behind fifty-something Choggun-Nunim… who’s been practicing with Sarge, of course. She also weighs little more than the weight I’d like to lose. I was probably the last to complete. But I did complete.

I didn’t get home till almost 3:00 (AM)… and was still giggling as I fell asleep.

So, yeah, I’m going to do that again next year – whoops; at the end of this year. I’ve got a monk’s habit (fake), with hood, so I’ll probably run wearing it. I’m trying to persuade Chuckles to fly up from down-thar in dixie and join us for a few days, including during the run. She has connections in the medical field (she’s kept them employed and wealthy all her life), and used to work for a veterinary office – so if she comes along, she’ll probably jog in scrubs (with or without white cane – legally blind, remember); we may take turns pushing each other on a gurney, come to think of it.

I’ll probably need it, come the first few fireworky minutes of 2009.