The journey begins

Sigh, a blog. Most of the time I can't even remember to wake up in the morning, much less report for duty to a blog on a regular basis. I have this huge alarm clock that has to remind me of something that happens at the same time in the same place each and every day of every week of every year, duh, "Get up dude!" They say that young people think they know it all. I'm beginning to believe that maybe it's possible that I did know it all when I was younger. I've grown so forgetful over time that maybe all those things that I know for certain I don't know are things I've forgotten along the way. Speaking of getting older, there comes a day, long after twenty-somethings start calling you sir, you know they only do it to bother you, the little buggers, when someone points out to you that you are over the hill. Is that really necessary? More importantly, I wonder, did I miss the day I was on top of the hill? I certainly don't recall a day when someone exclaimed "Hey man, you're on top!" or "Excuse me, sir, were you aware of the fact that you are on top of the hill today. I just wanted to make sure that you were aware of that and I'll be around again tomorrow to point out that you are now over the hill." Of course, maybe it did happen and I just don't remember.
Where was I going with this? See what I mean? Oh yeah, someone asked me to blog my journey into insanity. They pointed out that I seem to have mashed up almost every journey I took over the year 2007, so why not mash this one up as well. Since I use Google for trail mashups I decided to use Google for this mashup as well. I am going to call it my mental mashup because in spite of my posterior vehemently opposing this view, one very often hears it being said that running is all in your head.
So, what is this journey I speak of? First, a little background. Over the last twenty years I have developed this uncouth habit of putting on a pair of running shoes, finding a trail somewhere, usually in the mountains and not necessarily nearby, and running around half naked and alone on it for distances of up to 25 miles. "Sick!" is what my family, friends, and coworkers call it. My uncles, who used to run marathons in the seventies, would ask me when I was going to finally do the marathon thing. "Never!" was my pat response, "they're not held on trails." Of course, they didn't know any better than I did how wrong I was. I was also to discover that I did not have to limit my adventures to under 25 miles. Do you know what wet cotton can do to an exposed perineum over the course of 25 miles? HMOG! Bodyglide and fancy schmancy running shorts made from wicking materials are your friend. I also discovered, among other things, that there are numerous events held in the darndest places, run by the darndest people, and for the darndest distances. There are even clubs that cater to this subculture of uncouth sickos, in which I seemed to fit right into, such as the club I recently joined, SoCal Trail Headz.
Someone once told me that tact is the ability to tell someone to go to hell in such a way that they are actually looking forward to the trip. The journey I begin is a tactfully charted one that will take me, a trail runner, into the insane, hell-inspired world of ultra running. I'm looking forward to the trip!
Bring it, Let's Trailrun!