(crawling through) mud, barbed wire, pond water and drainage pipes is apparently more attractive to women than a 75% off sale at banana republic

i do not do 5k's. they hurt too much and are over before you can watch a complete episode of "hoarders", not to mention you barely burn off enough calories to accommodate the finish line bagel and half banana.



however, if race organizers plot a course at a ski resort, where you have to run up the 'soooo-not-a-nursery-slope', while snow guns blast you with 100 gallons of water per second, then i'm all about laying down some money for a bib number.



truthfully, i just wanted an opportunity to leave some of my ass cheek on the most enormous slip and slide down the mountain.



any remaining dermis was sloughed off in the spa portion of sunday river's tough mountain challenge.



allowing participants to feel revitalized and refreshed for that final sprint across the cargo net, to jump through a 'ring of fire' finish line.

it's better than doing it on tarmac, but not as good as doing it with the knobbies

once again, i heard myself muttering something to the effect of "i'm only running a piddly 6 miles, there'll be plenty of shade, and the fun singletrack will distract from any other complaints, it wont be that bad".

of course all of these statements were correct at the start line, and then again approximately 3 minutes after crossing the finish. it was the hour and some change in between where my heart rate spiked and pretty much stayed there. fortunately this did create an intermittent distraction from the high concentration of water fleeing my body which i am convinced was contributing to the equally dense air that was re-inhaled.

thankfully the 9 miles of 'elevation only' trail at next month's follow-up race will take my mind off minor things like breathing and excessive perspiration.

freshly squeezed butt juice

anal seepage can prove be something of a social obstacle, however, humans are in general, successfully able to mask these sorts of medically related personal hygiene issues with a little dab of preparation H and a good pair of leakproof, absorbent pants.*

unlike our furry, four legged brethren, when things are a bit impacted, there is no sphincter hanging out to dry, nor are there rugs, bedding and other upholstery to leave skid tracks on when scratching "that" itch. a common red flag- or brown smear- is catching your pet doing the "butt scoot" across the floor/your lap/the duvet cover. treatment options include a $30 visit to your veterinary paraprofessional (or grooming service) to have the anal glands expressed. a more cost effective solution is to perform a quick browse on your preferred internet search engine, which yields a surprising array of narrative and youtube instructionals, in order to SIY (squeeze it yourself).




*trans; panties. (noun). american.

fart proof knickers

the question was posed; if a boy farts in the woods, does the fart still smell like decomposing skunk armpit? this led to a series of deeply philosophical inquiries regarding the subjective deconstruction of "smell", value judgements that are subsequently placed on the more noxious ones, and a further exploration into the effects of excess nose hair, and how it potentially impacts the qualitative degree of odour detected; or-- the volume of fart fumes that formulate a level of density such that you can actually begin to chew on them.

while this dialogue proved to be a fascinating distraction from the arduous task of trundling down to the break room for coffee, the quest for a solution to the ultimate in flatulence faux pas proved to be infinitely more effective than caffeine at stimulating synapses for the day. the option of vaccuum sealed underwear, using non-porous materials, and elasticated waist/leg bands to trap random gas, was dismissed by virtue of the 'whoopee cushion' factor-- these can only be recommended for novices and activities/occupations involving a lot of standing (her royal highness could probably get a nice bulk discount on them for the guards at buckingham palace), with a cautionary disclaimer about using them for your "sunday best", given all of the stand up/sit down involved with wooden pews.

a new, technologically advanced "super knicker" would be designed specifically for the kinds of situations necessitating 'quick and sudden movement'; stadium events requiring you to do the "wave" more times than actual touchdowns are ever scored, or the paperwork clip board relay while waiting at the gynecologist's office. farts could be freely expelled through a "bi-focal" equivalent in your knickers, via individually scented filters that are inserted into centralized pockets just above the gusset; trapping, neutralizing, and dispersing the foul stench of your breakfast burrito. like febreeze and glade plug-ins, they would be available in lavender, white linen or a line of yankee candle's butterscotch cream. filters can then be purchased in weekly/monthly disposable re-fills, or for the more eco-friendly; machine washable that comes with a non-aerosol spray. the bonus marketing feature is obviously the dri-fit padded fibres that buffer embarrassing noises and offer additional absorbency for individuals with atrophied sphincter muscles.

not; "me too"

universality, per existential psychotherapist guru irvin yalom, is the process by which validation and subsequently healing occurs, through the mutual sharing of thoughts, feelings, and experiences. or in less fussy terms, those "phew moments" of; "oh my god, you mean i'm not the only one who thinks/does/says this?!"

unfortunately, there are still many of those "crickets chirping in silence moments" where no one else appears to be sharing in (my) experience. most recently i discovered that no one else (at the lunch table), sleeps in their watch. i believe that this is highly impractical, and the act of wearing one's timepiece through the night, can save precious "one less thing to have to do in the morning" minutes.

i have also, yet to run into anyone else that has a smelly belly button. more specifically, anyone else who has white funk to pick out of their belly button that smells funky. many agree that twirling a finger around in their nub can trigger the pee reflex, however they note that sniffing their finger after a quick "twirl" does not induce any "P.U.'s".

those people are sooo missing out.

further thoughts on pooing

my neglected muse; the bodily function. to poo, or not to poo? (at work). lunch table polling (what better time to discuss turds than over tacos) resulted in the obvious gender divide. where the daytime chronically constipated are also the people who support the makers of pocket hand sanitizer. these anally retentive germaphobes' sphincters constrict with horror at the contamination possibilities of a public toilet.

however, the primary variables posited (by the female sample) were the individual room versus the communal, individual stall. both noise and smell were cited as issues for either layout. the quandary lies in that closing a bathroom door hides the immediate deed to passers by, but it also seals in odour. with nowhere to disperse stagnant fumes, the next visitor is trapped (and invariably saw your hurried exit).

skid tracks are another problem if there is no guarantee of a brush (multiple flushes are an obvious giveaway). undoubtedly, the ultimate nightmare is clogging- although perhaps a troupe of ladies stamping around in wooden shoes would provide good noise and/or a diversion. generally employers do not provide a target "michael graves" plunger in each stall, and dry cleaning coathangers are the make shift "shit shifters" of the domicile.

former 80's pop singers with flammable hair aside, we all go into the bathroom to practice a very limited skill set. but many want to deny the collective common denominator (although my brother can truly do some unique and creative things making letters of the alphabet). my uptight personality can probably best be highlighted in the preadolescent refusal to carry the 'far too big for a plastic bag' bumper pack of toilet paper from the supermarket to the car. people might see; then they might think i actually used this stuff to wipe my bum; and then they would know that i took big stinky dumps.

as my taste buds have matured, so has my ego. giant burritos for dinner have forced me to overcome my fear of defecating at work the following day. however, i will contract my muscles for the entire 8 hours it takes to fly across the atlantic. supersonic toilet bowl air is not powerful enough to eradicate skid tracks.

which came first; the stinky shoes or the stinky feet?

there is definitely a continuum of stench as related to smell; from the mildly pongy "one-too-many-onion-bhajis-the-night-before" morning breath, to the dry heave inducing "gorgonzola-rotting-carcus-dog-shit". there is very little grey, someone's pits either smell, or smell really bad.

my mary janes (not a euphemism, you filthy boys) have never, not smelled bad. subsequently, every time i wear them my feet smell (once i remove the shoes to unlock the scent). i thought they were past smelling any worse. today i was standing and having a conversation with a co-worker and i could smell my feet/shoes- my nostrils are over 4 feet (ha!) away from them.

this is terribly unladylike.

stinky feet

every pair of mary jane shoes i have owned over the age of 20 have one thing in common; an extremely strong smell of bad feet. bad man feet. except mine are dainty, female, size 5 feet. making a morning footwear selection that involves these particular shoes is also about making a comittment to wear them all day until they are eventually taken off, effectively sealing the pong in; sort of like 'depends' for your feet. no other human, apart from a brother, loved one, or good friend who has her own 'stinky feet shoes' should ever be witness to the the smell, however in these cases, go ahead and wiggle and waft your toes at them as much as possible.