This one time my uncle told my brother and myself that there was a man (or at least he resembled a man) at the bottom of his laundry chute. If you yelled his name down the chute, he would reach a long and thin, but extremely powerful arm up the chute, pull you down through it and eat your guts out. I never understood why my uncle laughed so hard after saying such a thing...until I yelled them man's name down the laundry chute.
I don't get it.
I decided that if I'm going to call myself a runner, I should probably run.
42,500 Miles Later
Yell his name down the laundry chute, you'll figger it out real quick. That laundry chute will likely be the last thing you ever see.
Well what's the name you must yell? I still don't get it. I'm dumb.
To-day do I bake, tomorrow I brew,
The day after that the queen's child comes in.
And oh! I am glad that nobody knew
That the name I am called is Rumpelstiltskin!
Post-long run delirium?
I just got back from a run that took me by the deer carcass. There is nothing (and I mean nothing) left but a bloody ribcage and some assorted leg bones.
With any luck, the drying bones should still be there in 12 days.
How do you keep your feet on the ground, when you know you were born to fly?
Just a girl who runs.
© 2013 RunningAHEAD, LLC. All rights reserved.
| Terms of Service