This is a story of despair…
Never on an athletic adventure have I confronted the reality of not finishing, and not just not finishing, but prevailing upon others for needed assistance and flirting with the logistics of a rescue.
When you have 7 miles to go and you’re stuck 4,000 feet below your ultimate (but not final) destination, despair becomes yet another obstacle to overcome… and it’s a bitch.
Feet, don’t fail me on Friday… and while you’re at it, keep my knees in line and my hips on the up-and-up. Oh, and the toes, watch out for the toes.
On Friday, May 16, I will be revisiting the site of one of the most triumphal and awful experiences of my life: The Grand Canyon, one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, and the place that resulted in my having to have both of my big toenails pulled out with surgical pliers (while I was awake and aware of what was going on).
The trip was to have celebrated the 10th anniversary of our initial crossing, but since I have done my best to wipe the memory of the Dreaded Toenail Incident from my brain, I miscalculated, and my intrepid partner Kellee and I are in fact doing the big traverse on the eight-and-a-halfth anniversary of the big event.
JFF Hate Fest 
With the 22th pick of the 2014 NFL Draft, the Cleveland Browns selected the most insanely talented, over-rated, over-performing, over-hyped, most likely to succeed, least sportsmanlike, most marketable, least classy, most electrifying player in the known universe: Johnny (Fucking Football) Manziel!
And the crowd went wild… or wait, they wailed in agony… or they gasped in a paroxysm of orgasm… or they aired their genteel displeasure in panting exasperation… or they rushed to the phones to buy their season tickets… or they pegged their bets for the exact day and time that they could shout their “told ya so’s” from the rooftops when he …
Lent is over, folks, which means I can revert to my standard vocabulary of shameless profanity… but not before making a little contribution to the scientists at the TGen Foundation: A whopping $169.
In 1995, I … finished … the London Marathon as a member of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society’s Team in Training. I say finished because I injured my arch stepping off a curb at mile 16 (why the Londoners felt it’d be a good idea to put the water stop up on a curb on the Isle of Dogs still dogs me 20 years later). What would have been a triumphant 4-and-a-half-hour marathon ended up being a 6:08:42 slog.
At the time, just finishing my first marathon was the goal. At a team fundraiser, I signed up to be a bone marrow donor. Filled out a form. Got my finger stuck. Updated every change of address and phone number for the next two decades, through six addresses, four cities and two states. Added an email address. Changed my name. Didn’t think anything of it, until I got a call on November 13, 2013 from Tasha, a Donor Contact Representative at Be The Match.
“You may be a match for a possible bone marrow donation… do you have about 20 minutes to answer some questions for our preliminary screening?”
Sure. Some questions turned out to be a colonoscopy through a blushing 42-year span of hard-livin’ … and lovin’.