Gnome Run

Last year I agreed to run a 5K road race with my buddy C-Roc this Labor Day weekend. Like most of my poor decisions, this was decided at a bar after many, many grain-based drinks, and forgotten as soon as the booze wore off. Two weeks ago when C-Roc asked how my training was coming along and it all came rushing back to me.

I wrestled all through high school and did a lot of running during that period. We would run in the morning, have practice in the afternoon, then run again at night during dinner time because we couldn't eat. I even ran cross country a couple of years to get in shape before wrestling. But when wrestling season ended senior year I hung up my running shoes and have only jogged sporadically since then. I truly hate it (as an aside, I think people who decide to run marathons late in life are nonathletic clowns trying in vain to prove that they have some athletic ability...but what they don't get is that running is not athleticism. Anyone can run and win a race, they only need to be willing to train harder than their opponent).

A three mile run isn't a big deal, though. I could walk outside and run three miles anytime I want to, but I'll be running the race with C-Roc, my former wrestling training partner, AKA, Mr. Competitive. Anything we do together is a no holds barred fight for bragging rights that always degenerates into a physical brawl.

As an example, our junior year in high school the gym we trained at put in a boxing ring for "sparring". The day it was finished we checked out two sets of gloves and head gear and climbed between the ropes. For good reason we were afraid of breaking each other's ribs, so we said that only "head shots" were allowed, then stood there for three minutes and exchanged haymakers to one another's faces. My arms are longer so I jabbed him in the nose and kept him at a safe distance most of the time. After one stiff jab that I though stunned him I eased back for a second to let him gather his wits and he hauled off and landed an uppercut to my chin. I woke up on the canvas a second later with him standing over me laughing and the owner of the gym screaming at us to "take off that fucking gear and get the fuck out of the ring". We were never allowed to get into the ring, much less spar, again.

I should mention that C-Roc is built like a spark plug. He's five foot nothing, a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle, and determined like no one I've ever met before. He played center on our varsity football team and would routinely reduce opponents twice his size to tears. In the heat of battle he's like a Tasmanian Devil on Angel Dust.

When C-Roc and I became roommates after college we would have "feats of strength" challenges when we got home from the bars. Our favorite challenge was to see who could do more hand-stand push ups. We could each do a couple at the time before our arms would give out and we would come crashing to the carper on our heads. Another favorite was one C-Roc claimed was possible, but that we were never able to do, were called the "two legged table". This feat of strength consisted of getting on all fours on the ground and seeing if you could pick up your hands without toppling forward. Supposedly you can do this if you have enough core strength, but I think you need thirty pound calves for it to be possible. We tried on a regular basis and both have had cuts on our foreheads to remind us.

In the event of a tie after "feats of strength" we would wrestle until submission or blackout to determine the winner.

Even going to the beach was a competition. One day we were relaxing at the beach with Chuck and saw two little kids burying each other. C-Roc said to Chuck "I bet you couldn't bury me to the point I can't get out", and next thing I know there's a five foot deep hole in the sand near the water line and C-Roc is standing in it. Chuck filled it in until only C-Roc's head was above the sand and sure as shit he somehow got out. He was like the Hulk, he just growled, raised his arms then pushed his body out of the sand. If Jesus was walking by on the water I would have been like "Yeah, but Jesus, did you just see this shit over here?"

So basically what I'm saying is that I've been training so I can sprint three miles while engaged in hand-to-hand combat with freakishly strong gnome.