Here are three recent events in the lives of the Nitmii in which my natural inclination towards laziness and do-another-day-ism resulted in a net benefit to me. Rest assured, no animals were harmed in any of these tales. (Wait for those in a subsequent post: Cat-Water Box! (A Torture Story).)
F.M.S. presents: A Chronology of Dawdle
October 17th: Deferred Motivation
Mrs. Nitmos and I took to the streets of Detroit once again for the 2010 Detroit Marathon relay. We were competing in the Open Mixed group which requires no less than two 'outies' and two 'innies' in the sexual organal make-up of the roster. Due to some last minute team member gerrymandering, we were one vag short of the required 'full house' of genitalia to make our team street legal for a run at the division awards. Instead of five – three men and two women – we were four (three men and one woman). As such, I was burdened with two legs, approximately 12.7 miles, of the race. Having no inclination to tuck for one of the legs (and, really if you knew me, the physics would be impossible), there would be no chase for an award.
It wasn’t the distance but the wearisome roster shenanigans that left me in need of motivation as I boarded the bus for Canada to await my start at leg #2 that morning. I would run but I wasn’t exactly sure how hard (t.w.s.s.) I would do so.
I completed leg #2 in less than stellar time. Since I was going two legs, I bypassed the exchange station in downtown Detroit and headed north of the city onto leg #3 with only a passing consideration towards accelerating. As I passed the exchange zone, however, I noticed one fire engine red shirt wearing chap beginning his leg of the relay with gusto. He ran alongside me for a bit after leaving the exchange zone and then zoomed away all hopped up on his fresh legs and obnoxious shirt. I plodded along content to finish the last 6.6 miles at…whatev pace.
But then I started playing a little game to pass the time: Catch the pace groups. When I joined the race, the 3:35 marathon pace group had just passed. They were toast within the first 1/2 mile. By the time we arrived in Detroit at the end of leg #2, I had passed the 3:30 group already.
So, I started accelerating. I could feel the latent motivation returning from my untucked regions surging through my limbs like an estrogen boost injection for a pre-op tranny. The 3:25 group fell and then 3:20 was left behind.
And then fire engine red shirted guy came into view with just under 2 miles to go. As I pulled alongside of him, he surged ahead with a ten second full thrusters on kick. He did this four times in a row clearly trying to fight me off. At this point, I would have knocked over some struggling marathoners (mile 18 for them) to beat this guy. I’m not going to let some one-legger with horrible fashion sense get the better of me.
I pulled ahead again. He charged up next to me again, breathing heavy, and said “Nice job relayer.” I replied with a fake smile “You too." Then, just before I burst ahead one final time, I innocently looked over and asked “Is this your second leg too?” I didn't see him again.
We finished 9th of 210 teams in our category.
October 18th: Frittered Chance
This Monday was Boston Marathon registration day. I knew registrations would be going fast. I took the 18th off from work to recover from the relay and take care of some other errands. I even viewed the BAA website early that morning but passed on registering. A dentist appointment…raking the yard…these things just seemed more important.
That evening, with sparkling teeth and an uncluttered lawn, I logged back in to the BAA website to see that registration had closed. (cue sad trombone) There was a slight twinge of regret for not registering first thing in the morning. But considering the expense it takes to get me, Mrs. Nitmos, and potentially the kids to Boston for 2-3 days minimum, I was conflicted about the whole idea altogether anyway. I’m passive-aggressive that way.
In the end, with registration closed and Boston 2011 out of reach, it didn’t take long before I decided that I was okay with it. A nice clean mouth of teeth and five heaping bags of raked leaves were the alternative instead. You know what? I’m at a place in life where that still seems like a good trade-off.
Besides, Boston Schmoston. When’s the NYC Marathon?
October 27th: Stalled Rake
After the October 18th raking session, the rake was placed away to a life of ease and solitude along the garage wall as a steadily growing pile of leaves fluttered to the ground in the days that followed. I’d look outside, shake my head at the work that needed to be done, and return to my DVR and Sons of Anarchy.
And then the wind came. Heavy winds. And the leaves tumbled down the road. And now I don’t have many leaves left in the yard.
My rake still sits along the garage wall. There are no leaves. My DVR is empty.
I win. But where do the leaves go? I can only imagine my neighbor five doors away that stepped outside for his morning paper only to discover that his yard now has a four foot blanket of leaves draped across it. My advice? Go back inside and put on the DVR. They’ll be gone before you know it.
And finally, an apology. I’d love to have posted more over the last month but, well, it seems I just didn’t feel like it. Will you hear from me again? Maybe when I can’t put it off any longer.