Maybe "Laura" and "Scandinavian Skies" aren't the best sprinting songs, but "Pressure" usually does the trick.
I'm not part of the Long Island love fest that exists for hometown idol Billy Joel, but I always did have a soft spot for The Nylon Curtain. This album has a real raw feel, with melancholy, Beatles-esque songs that almost make me forget about his more gimmicky schlock.
"Goodnight, Saigon" came to mind when my husband informed me last night that he signed up for Warrior Dash. When we met, we were 18, youthful, in our prime -- and we've aged not gracefully together since. So it makes sense that we would run full steam ahead to our demise in pathetic tandem.
I'm psyched that he's doing the Dash with me, mainly because I know he won't let me quit if I start resorting to my typical lameness midway through. He'll appeal to my usually destructive sense of pride and insane ego. He may even throw some money my way. I'm hoping there's a secret savings account I don't know about that he's been waiting to tell me about at just the right moment.
I had a feeling he'd been considering doing this with me for some time now. The definitive indicator was when he suddenly started venturing out at night to do "road work." When he first announced this plan one evening last week, I thought he was going to weed-whack and edge the front curb.
My husband is often averse to change and anything outside of his comfort zone. This is a guy who wanted to spend our honeymoon in New York City. We both worked in Manhattan at the time (we honeymooned in Greece and Turkey -- +1, The Wife). When, at age 30, I had enough disposable income and vacation time to take a mini-backpacking adventure across Europe, I asked him and my best friend to accompany me. My best friend jumped at the chance, while he hemmed and hawed, until I got fed up and simply bought my ticket to Heathrow without him.
But I know he regretted not going. When I called him from a hostel in Paris one evening, he was drowning his sorrows in a pound of Ronzoni by his lonesome. For years afterward, the selective-memory story slowly evolved. First it was "Maybe I should've gone." Then it was "Did you tell me about this trip?" Finally: "You never asked me, I would have gone!" I sensed this same restlessness about Warrior Dash. His initial ambivalence changed to curiosity, then to intrigue, and finally to a crushing, burning desire to postpone his impending shoulder surgery and go for the gold, or at least a very cool Viking helmet, which I'm sure he'll give to our son. Screw that, I'm keeping mine.
Honestly, this race won't take him down. Despite all his histrionics every night when he limps back in the door, he regularly runs at least three or four miles in pretty good time. He spent the duration of 2009 running EVERY DAY on the treadmill (an inexplicable physical challenge he set for himself and completed). Did I mention he used to run cross-country in high school? I'm not sure how he'll fare on the climbing obstacles, considering the massive calcium deposits that are clogging up his joints (hence the postponed surgery), but I have a feeling he'll do pretty well overall.
As long as he leaves just enough energy to drag my sorry ass across that finish line after the final fire jump.
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