taper madness in the workplace...

Before my first marathon in 2006, until, not coincidentally, a few days after my first marathon, I used to have a "real" lawyer job, a permanent one with benefits and suits and ties and all. Well, not really, because I worked for the state (sorry, Jenn). I was an attorney for the Board of Dental Examiners - we licensed and regulated dentists, dental hygienists, dental assistants, and propane accessories, or something to that effect. My office was on the 8th floor of the Hobby Building, across from Gingerman (which is why I still have sweet parking), and it looked out at Auditorium Shores. There, that week, I first experienced the full sweep of taper madness...


good afternoon, this is rob.

yes. yes, ma'am. i see. well, tell me what happ... oh, snap, i can see the finish line from my office. i didn't realize that...

what? oh, no, please, go ahead.

right. i see. so the dentist pulled the wrong tooth. because he was drunk. on absynthe. wow, that's different. real different. no, different is good. no, not so much for you, of course not.

ok, ma'am, i understand you're very upset, and in what you understand to be "pain." yes, ma'am, i made the air quotes. that was very perceptive of you. now, i grant you, you sound like you've got about 10 packets of banana blast gu in your maw, but i think you need to put this in perspective. now, i...

i'm sorry? hello, it's a carb replacement energy gel. well, maybe if you turned off matlock and got off your ass, you'd have known that.

uh, no ma'am, i said... if jews turned over and cottoned giraffes, you'd have known that. no, ma'am that doesn't make sense, but it's ok, i'm a runner. i mean, an attorney.

so, look, i feel for you, but i mean, it's not like you've got, say, an IT band problem, or a stress fracture, or plantar fasciitis. heard of that? yeah, i got that. i get these pains in my feet that go up my ankle, and they annoy me and make me want to kick my cats, if it wouldn't, you know, hurt my feet. plus, they'll sleep next to my legs the night before the run and keep the hammies warm. no ma'am those aren't small hams.

you can file a complaint online, on our website. you don't need to talk to me. especially today. i mean... are you... are you talking to me? are you talkin' to me? cause... i don't see anyone else that's running a marathon this sunday.

you know, i shouldn't even be at work right now. i mean, what the hell? i'm making calls trying to see what the hell the hold-up is with sunday. i think my calendar is slow. i should be home stress-testing my socks, and making sure there's no exposed elastic in the liner of my shorts. i should be hanging upside down in a vat full of icewater and listening to some ice cube, ac/dc, and mars volta to keep me mentally prepared. i shouldn't be here sneaking monopolova into my iced tea at work.

but here i am, listening to your petty problems. oh, a golf-ball sized abscess? oozing pus? yeah, well, i got a toenail i could show ya that'd make you gag. what? a fever? A FEVER? you wanna talk about hot - do you know the temp outside? it's 79 DAMN DEGREES! the wind is gusting up to 16 mph from the SOUTH! that's a headwind! what? why in god's name would anyone be going north on sunday morning? are you mental?

i need sunday morning's temperatures to curve smoothly from 38 degrees at 7:00 am, to 50 at about 11:30. i need low humidity. and a tailwind. i was promised a tailwind. i converted to catholicism two weeks ago just to get low humidity and a tailwind. so help me god, and i mean that literally, i'll go aetheist!

no, i'm not spending taxpayer money staying glued to weather websites. i opened a personal credit card to pay a meteoroligist to sit in my office and give me verbal reports every ten minutes, freeing me up to study the course map carefully during my work hours. i don't know, he used to work in portland, then there was something about a career day visit to the local highschool. not important, except it made him a little more affordable.

so, you know, it's easy for you to sit there and mumble, with very poor diction, i might add, "look at me, my 72 year-old negligently mangled mouth hurts, i might die from the infection. wahhhh." but sunday morning, while you're watching faux news and gumming some pureed scrambled eggs, ima be at about mile 14, schvitzing through whatever nike dri-fit shirt i finally decide on, hoping the bandaids hold on over my nipples, and trying to focus on the hot girl in the black tights in front of me, hoping it'll distract me from the weird twinge of pain in my left ass cheek.

yeah, you're damn right. no, don't cry, you didn't know. now you do. call me back on tuesday. afternoon.