CHAPTER 1
Going Off the Deep End
In the running world, you'll find athletes of all ages who have that edge of competitiveness that continues to drive them, time after time, to be the best and finish first. They strive to emerge as the winners. Coming in second or third is a complete failure to them, more like an embarrassment rather than an accomplishment. In the world of running, this kind of competitor also has to win at all costs. To not win simply sends them off the deep end with their running activities. What turns a runner into an irrational running machine with an insatiable appetite for pounding that asphalt?
A number of motivations may fuel an all-consuming desire to win, but one primary motivator is simple — that old nemesis called competition. Some runners enter each race simply for the enjoyment of kicking someone else's rear. It's a wonderful feeling and fuels them until the next race. Other runners challenge themselves as a formidable opponent, setting their own personal goals to finish as well or better than they did in the last race within a respectable time.
An avid running competitor may quietly pick out his or her competition and map a strategy to beat that competition to the finish line. The least likely motivation can spark that competitive edge, something as subtle as the satisfaction of seeing one's name listed above those of all other competitors at the end of the day. This provides the highly competitive athlete or the runner who is driven to win with a sense of satisfaction, at least for the moment. It doesn't last long, as these runners challenge themselves, knowing there will be another day and another chance to identify new competitors to race against. Winning once is never enough. There's always that next race to conquer. The problem with the insanely competitive runner is that he or she is not alone. Plenty of them exist — cocky and egotistical, lurking at the next race for the chance to beat everyone.
Defeat can happen, and once it does, the weight of the blow comes crushing down, not just on the runner but on everyone in his or her running circle. Depression is immediate, and the broken competitor walks away deflated, beaten, and conquered. Everyone around this defeated running machine must endure the pain and gloom-and-doom attitude until his or her next race.
Immediately after losing a race, the runner apparently also loses his sense of hearing, as every question directed his way is met with silence. "Hey, Ben, did you get that top award you were after?" The poor soul stands staring into space, wiping the sweat from his face, bowed and holding his knees, completely unresponsive. His mind is processing the shock of defeat, and amid a vicious rotation of tormenting thoughts he questions himself: How could I do this? What the heck happened to me? Why am I so stupid? He torments himself, wondering why he didn't try this or that, which would have certainly meant his success. Events in the running world influence his constant state of mind. Afterward, the ride home is in silence, his buddies respecting his need for self-torture.
For days, he asks himself how he could have run faster. How did he lose the race? What tactics should he have used? What could he have done legally — or illegally for that matter? What would have given him the advantage to finish just one step ahead of the winner? nothing brings him back from the brink, and the defeat consumes him. This extremely competitive runner is definitely difficult to endure if he isn't the lead dog in the running pack.
For days, this runner walks around in a stupor, seeing but not hearing. He is still processing defeat. The nights are filled with dreams of that elusive win, tormenting him even more. He wakes up frequently, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling, mentally kicking himself.
He mopes around unable to eat, unable to do much of anything. He is interested in nothing else, so those who know him just save their breath. After spending a few days rolled up in the covers, blinds pulled to keep himself in the dark, he finally decides to wake up, wander outside, and smell the fresh air. The senses slowly return, and he starts preparing to kick someone else's tail in the next race.
At the next race, a pretty young thing catches his attention. He temporarily forgets about winning. He joyfully starts running slower as long as he can continue this wonderful pursuit, but mostly he enjoys the view, watching the shapely, graceful runner who makes all the right moves in her tight shorts. As they run, laugh, and talk, they plan to run some more. The race is soon over, and the running machine goes home, anxiously waiting for the next race and the chance to see his new interest. He is not sleeping at all now. He lies awake at night, hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling, with an important question for himself: How can I get into her head?
So much for the competitive running machine.
Another type of athlete who can be difficult to deal with — this one suffering a different type of running insanity — is the poor soul who has gained five pounds and becomes a foodaholic. This type of runner has the misconception that he can eat anything he wishes as long as he runs three miles each day to work off the calories. After running, he goes to his favorite dining establishment and chooses carefully, stuffing himself with all the delicious temptations of his choice. As a reward for having run three miles earlier that evening, after dinner he spends two hours watching television, junk food in hand, before retiring to bed.
The next day, he goes out and pounds that asphalt in an attempt to relieve the guilt associated with the eating binge from the evening before. He steers clear of that local eating establishment and opts instead to grab a couple of burgers and large fries on the way home. This is followed by a round of cake and ice cream just before bed, a reward for having run three miles earlier that evening.
A runner trapped in this routine could run his rear end off every day and still not lose weight, consuming more food calories than he could possibly burn out of his system. Depression sets in, and the foodaholic runner is difficult to live with. He beats himself up, trying to figure out why he is still gaining weight. It becomes a vicious circle of desperation. The more frustrated the runner gets when he gains weight while running, the more he eats to relieve the frustration.
Soon he is hiding little bite-size candy bars in his desk drawer at his workplace; the smaller ones are considered harmless, until frustration makes him reach for the whole darn bag and gulp down the entire stash. On the drive home, he is beating himself up, ashamed of his weakness, and vowing not to let it happen again. He reaches into the console for a pen and spots a bag of chips. ripping it open, he devours it, convincing himself that it's just one little bag. He goes out in the hot sun and pounds the pavement with all his might, confident that he has run off all the calories from the candy bars and chips.
On the drive home, he spots a two-for-one deal at the local bakery. Stepping inside, he observes a sign that reads, "Desserts spelled backwards is Stressed." Enough said. He decides to choose carefully, selecting a coconut cream pie and six fudge-topped brownies. He eats the brownies on the ride home and decides to skip the evening meal altogether to make up for it. He surfs the Internet for two hours and gets ready for bed. Needing a little snack, he rounds out the evening with a big slab of coconut cream pie and a cappuccino, a reward for having run three miles earlier that day.
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Another interesting type of mad maniac runner is the socialite, who uses running to expand his or her world of human connectivity. Whether on the prowl for a special fling, developing new friendships, or establishing a political base for personal gain, the socialite has a purpose in mind and uses running as the centerpiece to promote his or her agenda. The socialite will strive to join running groups that focus on nothing but talking, partying, and making after-race plans while pounding that asphalt. This runner couldn't care less about speed or time, because the fix is having another opportunity to socialize, period. Take that away, and the socialite runner is ready to go off the deep end in a matter of seconds, entering panic mode until he or she can resume the addiction.
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The procrastinating runner is another confusing personality, yet his procrastination has little to do with actual running. This asphalt pounder will do anything he can to get out of housework or any other chore the wife might expect. He is always going to do it, of course, just after the race. Saturdays are a great day for the procrastinator, since a full day of running can continue to delay the work and avoid that honey-do list week after week. The procrastinator's strategy is to plan ahead in order to avoid doing his chores, always having just one more race on the calendar. This works for a few weeks, until the wife catches on and is ready to go off the deep end herself. She goes ballistic and issues a no-run ultimatum until the all of the work is completely finished.
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Finally, there is the running maniac who brings joy to everyone else. He or she is the runner who simply runs for the "hell of it." No agenda, motive, or strategy is needed. This runner is quick to tell everyone that he or she runs simply because of the joy it brings. The only thing that would send the joyful runner off the deep end is if he or she had to quit altogether. That will be a sad day in this athlete's world of running!
CHAPTER 2
gassing the Competition
Certain running fanatics should be avoided during a big event, such as a marathon. They are fierce competitors and are known as Gas Tactical Specialists. They quickly spread throughout the crowd, and like a ticking time bomb, deliver with deadly accuracy their arsenal of powerful gas bombs. At the starting line, these smelly individuals invade the running arena before runners even know what hit them. The effect is immediate. Pure, fresh air rapidly dissipates and becomes a faint, distorted memory to those in the gas specialist's midst. runners gathered for the start of the event become faint, weak, and disoriented as they suddenly are seen darting and running in every direction, trying desperately to find an uncontaminated pocket of air to breathe.
Smart runners learn to dodge these crazy characters at all costs. runners who have survived the gas specialists' tactics can be seen holding their heads high, not because they are proud, but because they know they must attempt every abortive measure known to man in order not to fall victim and succumb to the invisible plumes of disgust. many have also endured various attacks by these gas specialists. When considering a marathon race where these gas specialists may show up, heed this warning and strategize accordingly. There are several different facets to the type of weaponry the gas experts use in their deliveries. This is the first attempt on record to design a counterattack.
The first style of delivery is a gas technique that one would never suspect and thus has been labeled "the Bertha Butz," named in honor of its founder. Bertha is known as the courteous gasser and has conquered the delivery of her arsenal with grace and finesse. This particular style ensures that she is a safe distance ahead of her victim before even thinking of launching into her melody of various toots. Although one can faintly hear sounds coming from her direction, one would rarely suspect those sounds are coming from nice, sweet, attractive Bertha, who proceeds on her path waving so kindly to those around and acting as if nothing has happened. The only telltale hint she offers are the rumblings that are sometime detected in her lower body. These beginning gaseous escapes are usually silent and, thus, completely undetectable. Bertha's got a giveaway, though — the smile that spreads across her face immediately upon delivery.
Bertha isn't always able to find her way to the front of the crowd to deliver her arsenal, and she's quite adept at finding alternative ways of covering her tracks. In fact, when, in the act of running, a bout of gaseous rumblings are about to occur, she may opt to give her running partner a disgusted look, indicating she is truly disgusted at the very thought that she could be the responsible party and masking the fact that the true toots belong to her. She may perhaps pretend that a dead animal lying near the roadway is to blame for giving off this disgusting smell. This flurry of visual confusion usually throws the victim completely off track.
Bertha's strategy of shifting the guilt reminds one of sitting in a closed-room meeting with a bunch of guys. In the middle of a discussion, one of them inevitably "cuts one" and then looks around the room as if he's desperately trying to identify the true culprit, appearing completely innocent as he is forced to sit there and endure the lingering odor. This deceptive move is Bertha's favorite. She would never admit that loud tooting is as much a part of her running routine as putting one foot in front of the other. After all, tooting is not ladylike. But it works for her and has proven deadly.
An egotistical running partner, Harry Butz, is credited with the second style of gassing. unlike his sister, Bertha, Harry is far from being what one would consider a traditional tooter. He has managed to master the art in a different way — by using his mouth. In fact, Harry suffers from an incurable form of diarrhea (of the mouth); therefore, his particular style qualifies him for this crazy group since it bears similarities to the real thing.
Harry can spew out words of every sort with rapid delivery, taking aim at as many runners as possible, in order to get into their head and anger and confuse them before a race. His favorite quick delivery is the one that pits one against the other with his made-up foulmouthed comments. Never does he worry about how a verbal gas bomb sounds or who it might offend; nor does he care. While Harry's traditional gas attempts may be erratic and need work, his mouth expulsions are delivered with rapid precision and accuracy. By the time Harry is finished spewing words designed to cut the legs out from under his competitors, they become so rattled and angry that they begin turning on each other. Harry just smiles as he makes his way toward the start line. This technique has proven to be a very effective weapon for him time and time again. Harry somehow manages to escape being beaten to a pulp after his barrage of insults by running faster than everyone else. He is easily recognizable at races, usually seen with his foot in his mouth, setting the tone for a very long race for his competition.
Other gas specialists model their delivery style after that of a unique runner known as red Butz. Where would one begin when describing this individual? To prepare for a race, red deliberately eats every gas-producing food known to man. Then, as various gasses build up inside, he proceeds to move around proudly, tooting his way through crowds of runners gathering for the race. red delivers all kinds of airborne attacks — loud ones, long ones, various pitched ones — all with ease. red does not have any modesty or regret over his actions. In fact, he proudly proclaims himself a seasoned gas expert, using his newfound weaponry in advantageous ways. His claim to fame is his ability to digest foods that produce such a foul odor that it has been known to actually demoralize and defeat his running competitors. When he gets near other runners, he saves the best for last — ramping it up, or stepping on the gas, so to speak, in an effort to force his opponents to dodge, duck, dart, or take other evasive measures in order to get out of the line of fire.
