Today was fairly eventful. Started the day giving George a hand with the tractor. George, you'll recall manages David's farm. He lives in a double wide trailer on the property. Seems the fuel filter failed George midway through spraying the alfalfa fields. Then he killed the battery trying to start the damn thing. Elizabeth gave him a ride home. David woke me up 8 am to tell me I needed to give George a ride in the F-150 pick-up truck, give him a jump, and follow him home. You can drive stick, right, David asked. Hell yeah, just not in front of other men.
After the pick-up truck rescue and breakfast, I took a bike ride with David. We rode around Colorado in 40 degree weather for an hour. David said it was a leisurely stroll. We had to screw on the pedals, get water bottles, find a helmet, put on sunglasses. David had extra work to do, since he had to put on spandex tights. This might be the toughest photo of the Traveling Wombury ever taken. If you agree, please send in a tough photo of yourself.
See that? That's hardware. David drove me to a hardware store to buy it. I sort of fucked up the bathtub drain on Wednesday. After running 6 miles and ten (TEN!) hills with David, he told me to soak my extremities in the basement bathtub. Like the mindless ape-man that I am, I pulled the drain lever clean off. Pet the pretty drain. Where I'm from we didn't fix stuff. We were like aboriginal neophytes who looked at electricity like it was the sole possession of the Gods of Olympia. We once gave our sister's hand away in marriage to the electrician for showing us how to program the microwave. But David and Elizabeth don't play that. David took me to Mcguckins and we bought a new drain and installed it. Afterwards my jeans no longer fit because my love stones had swollen to the size of hairy grapefruits.
Guess who's running in a 5k race this weekend? That's right, tomorrow at 9:30 am, The Traveling Wombury will be in the thick of his first competitive race. I asked David if I could wear a wife-beater and face paint. He said runners, "don't do intimidating; either you can run or you can't." Tell that to Muhammad Ali, or Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. These men knew and know the value of trash talking and being righteous muslim men. Which is why I plan on taking two wives after the race tomorrow. Elizabeth and David took me to dinner and we talked strategy. We all agreed I would start at 9:40 pace, run alongside with David, and then take off. I asked them when to go all out like a crazed madman. When you have the finish line in your sights. Elizabeth told me running was all about the mental aspect. How would I react when the body begins to tire, screams for relief? She told me she wants to see me flat on my face after the finish line. That way she'll know I tried my hardest. That's your challenge, she said, looking me straight in the eye. To try as hard as you can. For once.
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