Date: Mon, 10 Apr 2000 11:19:48 -0500 From: "Rich Limacher" THE UNLIKELY ADVENTURE OF KITSCHME SIOUXME AT THE SUPERIOR TRAIL 100 Part 23 To Err Is Human, To Forgive Is "Not An Option" "Oh, the poor folks hate the rich folks, And the rich folks hate the poor folks. All of my folks hate all of your folks, It's American as apple pie. "But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week, New Yorkers love the Puerto Ricans 'cause It's very chic, Step up and shake the hand Of someone you can't stand, You can tolerate him if you try. "Oh, the Protestants hate the Catholics, And the Catholics hate the Protestants, And the Hindus hate the Moslems, And ev'rybody hates the Jews. "But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week, It's National Ev'ryone-Smile-At- One-Another-Hood Week, Be nice to people who Are inferior to you. It's only for a week, so have no fear, Be grateful that it doesn't last all year." --Tom Lehrer "National Brotherhood Week" (1965) This other guy named Kitsch is RIGHTBEHINDME and, I swear, he's packing "heat" to do me in. And why? All because I happened to win 3rd place in the Chicago Area Runners Association's Clydesdale Circuit in 1995, and he got 4th. So, after what seems like an eternity (you know the feeling), I finally muster up the courage to continue: "You, uh, you're not, um, pissed, are you?" I finally ask in a very small voice. "What age group did you say you were?" he asks. I don't think he heard me. "In, uh, 1995?" "Yeah, 1995." "Well," I say, "same group as I'm in right now." "I'm not clairvoyant," he says. "What age group is that?" "If I said 45 to 49, would that make a difference?" "No, don't think so." "No?" "No, 'course not." "'COURSE NOT???" "Hell no. I was under 40--in the 'Open Division.' You were 'Masters.'" "WOW!!!" "'Wow'? What kinda response is that?" "I, uh, I'm just happy for you!" "You bein' sarcastic?" "NO!" "You makin' fun?" "NO!" "You think I look older than I really am?" "NOT A CHANCE! You, uh, 'course I can't see you 'cause you're behind me..." That's when he makes his move to pass. "How 'bout NOW?" he turns and looks full in my face as he zips by me on the left. "Pshaw!" I fake. "You don't look a day over 30." He smiles. "I think so too." He forges straight ahead and begins to pull away, like, uh, you know... like a MUCH younger man. And I, of course, breathe a sigh of relief. "So," I holler, "I didn't take any trophy away from you in 1995?" "Hell no! You think I'd be worried 'bout beating an old fart like you? See ya at the finish!" That silences me but good. I decide to let him go ahead--well ahead--on his merry way. Actually, I suppose [now's the time to confess this], this other man named "Kitsch" doesn't really say these nasty things to me at all. I'm simply beginning to be delirious. Night is coming. I'm not even to the 50-mile cutoff yet. I'm feeling like I must be in very last place for the 100. Well, maybe NOW I am. I just got passed by this *young* stud who, up until this minute, must surely have been in last place for real. But actually, if the truth were really known (and who, really, ever knows the truth?), I'd have to tell you that what this other Kitsch REALLY says to me which gets me the MOST worried is the following: "I think it's gonna start rainin'." I look skyward. I wrinkle my brow. I spit. Maybe, I think, I should pee again. I have always wondered, at times like these, what if what the nuns told us in grammar school was actually incorrect? Maybe rain is NOT when all the angels in heaven start weeping for our sins. Maybe they're just pissing on us. Then I suddenly look around. No, I'm not expecting to be overtaken by Muhammad Dad and his All-Peeing Harem. They've already passed both their pee and me. No, what I suddenly realize is that Hardrock, Coco, Jo & Associates are still somewhere behind. "Then I'm NOT the last one out here!" I holler up to the angels. And I smile, drip, shake, retuck, hitch, scratch, take another swig from my left-hand bottle, shove it back in the holster, and press on. I should tell you my "patented method" for in-race, on-the-fly, en route hydrating. I always grab from the left-side bottle of my double-holster "Dream 100" official merchandise souvenir of the great Western States 100-Mile Endurance Run, which I endured two years after not-beating that other non-Kitsch. I smile as I remember THAT "unlikely adventure." As recently as yesterday, during our caravan drive to spot the truck at Grand Marais, Running Little Bare remembered it. "Those blue shorts," she said, shaking her head. "Oh my God!" I exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. "Those were the all-time short-shorts of the century!" [If nobody else remembers them, let me take a moment here to illustrate, in approximate size, what I approximately saw :] _______ (~~~\/~~~) That's it! [You're imagination will just have to supply the blue. And, of course, the *hot* German babe inside them.] I think about Running Little Bare again, as I recall those shorts, and smile, and hope she's OK in this race. She's somewhere up there in front of me--I'm positive of that. And I always think to myself, at times like these, Don't let me catch you! As long as I never see the runners who pass me, or start out ahead of me, during a race, I always figure they're OK and all's right with the world. Conversely, as long as I don't see the people I know are behind me--EVER--during a race, I always figure I'm OK and nothing catastrophic has yet happened with the world. Anyway, let me finish my earlier thought. You know, about my patented double-holster bottling and hydration system. It's actually pretty simple. I just drink from the left bottle till it's empty, then switch with the right bottle, putting the right where the left was and the left where the right was and then I always know I'll be drinking what's left from the right on the left. That's right, isn't it? What's left? Oops! It's empty. They're BOTH empty! Omigosh! I'm out of fluids!!! The next aid station is somewhere AFTER the 50-mile cutoff. The 50-mile cutoff is halfway up Carlton Mountain. It's going to get dark! I haven't even started climbing yet! Hardrock and the other two impossibilities must be getting reeeeeeeeeal close! And it's gonna start RAINING any minute!!! Welllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll... How does THIS figure into our hero's patented hydration system, sports fans? Oh, right. Just tip his head back and open his mouth. Pretty simple, eh? Nope! Not an option. How do we even know it's going to start raining at all? Oh, right. Weather is on another channel. And by now, all this is history. Nope! Not an option. This is an "UNLIKELY" adventure, remember? You won't know for sure if it's raining and/or if the sidewalk is wet, unless you come back to THIS channel--same time, next time, online!--for Part 24. Kitsch Limacher TheTroubadour@prodigy.net