#

Vendi, vidi, whatever

#

You would be amazed if you knew what runners thought**

My mind wanders quickly and easily. I must run far and I must run often. Today's workout will total two hours. Welcome to the journey to the center of my mind.

A friend runs stubbornly beside me. "I am Irish; I will fight you in the street." He's never said that, but I'd laugh if he did. He has chunks missing from his calf muscles; the result of a bad car accident. He spent his sophomore year of high school in a wheelchair. He's shaped like a human pear.

The 20-minute mark. Carrying a water bottle is cumbersome, but my Irish friend and I must remain hydrated. Maybe that's why Phidippides collapsed. The unfortunate Greek jogged from Marathon to Athens, yelled "Nike," and died. Or maybe he had scurvy. Vitamins weren't popular in the fifth century B.C.

I wonder if he was an overpronator. I oversupinate, along with at least 12 percent of the population. Nine out of 10 people wear the wrong sneaker. Nine out of 10 people probably shop at the mall. Seven people die each year from soda machines falling on top of them. Be quick or be dead.

The one-hour mark has come and gone. The leaping leprechaun and I are running through Duke Forest. He definitely has some Irish Spring in his step. Long slow distance is key. Thank goodness for LSD. The Irishman may wobble, but he won't fall down.

I finished in seven-thousand nine-hundred and fifty-sixth place in last year's Marine Corps Marathon. The race was held in our nation's capital. I was happy until five Marines wearing combat boots passed me at the Jefferson Memorial. And they were singing. Well, I guess they found their few good men.

After running out of gas, I hit the wall at the 18 mile mark. The female runner does not. Instead, she relies on extra body fat. There's another wall if you continue for 35 miles as well as one around the 90 mile mark. Who's the fool that found that out? Maybe it was Phidippides.

I collapsed in the mud after finishing the 26.2 mile race. And when I tried to stand up, my knees buckled. I felt like a fat man. Elite marathon runners weigh approximately two pounds for every inch of their height. I will never be an emaciated elitist.

The two-hour mark approaches. Running is the cream in my coffee, the apple of my orchard and the straw that stirs my drink. There's a pitcher of ice-water waiting for us in the refrigerator. I like to drink water, sometimes Gatorade. Bill Rodgers enjoys ginger ale upon returning from a tough workout. Yummy.

I love Coca-Cola, although I prefer Pepsi Cola's ad campaign. Too much Coke makes me sick. I'm not sure about Pepsi because I only have it occasionally. Many rednecks enjoy RC Cola, moon pies and burping. I enjoy running six days a week. Classes tend to get in the way. So does beer; so does television. My Irish friend agrees.

The two-hour mark. Finis. The End. The Limit. The Boundary. The Border. Nina Kuscsik was the fastest woman in the 1972 Boston Marathon. She lost control of certain muscles at the 13 mile mark and experienced uncontrollable diarrhea. She tried to rinse it from her legs, then decided to forget about it.

Spectators stopped applauding when they noticed. No surprise there. I'm proud of her. She's a runner.

Christopher Kyle is Trinity senior.