Fun Runs Running Funner

I've spent the last two weeks dreading this Saturday.

Three weeks ago, in a fit of optimism, enthusiasm and joi de vivre (opti-thusi-joi?) I signed up for a 5k. Three weeks ago I figured I had enough time to train so that I could run well enough to not embarrass myself. Three weeks ago I walk/jogged a mile and a half on my first day of training and was feeling pretty smug.

Then thing got really, really busy. Just they do every year at this time. Just like I should have known would happen again. Just like I let totally blindside me again! Now I'm just two days out from the run, and my to do list is still at least 5k long. And my first training run was also my last training run.

There's no backing out though, because I've already registered and sent in my money. I'm not dedicated or foolhardy, but I am cheap. And stubborn. But mostly cheap. If I was to travel back in time and find myself boarding the Titanic and they told me tickets were non-refundable, I would grab a life vest and settle in for the ride.

The fact that I get out of breath walking to the refrigerator isn't enough to dissuade me from going, either. The Princess and I did three runs in the past three months without training. They were more about the fun than the run - “Hey, let's spend the night in Des Moines and run 5k in a tutu.” “Let's run around North Liberty after dark on a path lit by glow sticks.” “Let's run a mile in downtown Iowa City wearing Halloween costumes.”

We jogged a little, walked a little, had a lot of fun and got some exercise. I figured that was the whole point. We survived with only a few days worth of aches and pains after each.

Our lack of training isn't something I'm particularly proud of. (Being lapped by a chihuahua in a Batman cape really should have been a more effective motivator.) In fact, after every run, we'd gasp and say “We've really got to start training for these things.”

While the Princess and I didn't train to run, it's not like we just rolled off the couch, slipped on some tennies and headed out. We've been working out at the gym. Unfortunately, pushing a prowler loaded with 70 pounds for 30 yards is a lot different that pulling my ass loaded with 70 pounds for 3 miles. And I sincerely hope they won't make me stop at each mile mark and do a set of bicep curls – not the 12-oz. kind, either.

That reminds me of a girl I used to work with who did “hashing” runs. These “Hash House Harriers” runs involved following a marked trail (instead of a mapped course) and stopping to chug beers every so often. Back then it sounded fun and crazy. Now it sounds mostly crazy, and a little nauseating.

This Saturday's run/walk is a “Pancake Dash,” complete with pancake breakfast. I think it sounds like fun. I'm not sure I'll partake of the pancakes, but breakfast means coffee and that will keep me going. Heck, if they had Eric Balfour holding a trucker-sized mug of coffee at the finish line I'd set all kinds of speed records!

Now if you were to combine the hashing and the dashing you could end up with something really fun. Like a Mimosa cocktail run! Or maybe a Mimosa walk... which could lead into a Bloody Mary walk... and on to some little quiches and sausages, with fruit, or sweet rolls.

In other words, a brunch buffet.

That sounds like my kind of 5k.

Wanna See Something Really Scary?

I love Halloween. What's not to love about dressing up and eating lots of candy? But I'm not a big fan of going through haunted houses – or haunted trails, tunnels, barns, fields, forests, malls, closets, and shoe boxes. For that matter, I don't like watching scary movies – unless they're SyFy originals. And the lights are on. And I control the remote.

I'm not exactly sure when I turned into such a big weenie. I used to like reading scary stories and watching scary movies (remember “Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park”?) and I … tolerated … the local Jaycee's annual Haunted Whatever.

But somewhere along the way all that frightening stuff lost its appeal.

And I got along just fine until the Princess hit the teen years and decided she needed to experience all things spooky. Luckily her friends have parents much braver than I am (and they are too kind to point that out).

I've tried to look at my fear of fear-inducing activities rationally. I know that psychologically, scary movies, etc., can provide a “safe” way to face our fears. A horror movie or trip to a haunted house can provide a cathartic experience, just like watching a tear-jerking movie can make you feel better. But that rational viewpoint is the first thing to get catharsis-ed right out of me when some rubber-masked ghoul surprises me.

It's not like I think that vampire rising out of the cardboard box is actually going to “get” me. I know the difference between reality and make-believe, possible and impossible. A few examples: Zombies taking over the world? Impossible. (They lack the fine motor skills needed to fill out a voter registration form. Except in Chicago.). Chainsaw wielding maniac hacking me to bits? Impossible. (I know better than to walk through the darkened woods when that creepy violin music is playing.) Eric Balfour and Colin Firth fighting over me? Improbable (one lives in the US, the other in the UK).

Whatever the real reason, I've deluded myself into believing that I don't like horror movies/haunted houses because reality is more scary than any fantasy. Just a few of the real life things that scare me more than any haunted house could:

• Fitting rooms with florescent lights – As if the fun-house inspired mirrors weren't bad enough (my ass isn't really that big, is it?), those florescent lights give my cellulite the attractive pallor of the living dead.
• Pregnancy tests – At this time in my life, a positive pregnancy test for me (theoretically possible) would result in a heart attack; a positive test for the Princess would result in me behind bars.
• College tuition – For the Princess' sake, I hope Netflix starts offering scholarships. The Little Prince may end up playing his drums on street corners for donations.
• Yearbooks – In the company of friends, yearbooks can be a source of nostalgia. In the company of your children yearbooks are a source of fashion ridicule. Knowing that what comes around goes around doesn't help.
• Family car rides – Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
• The shiny reflection at the bottom of an empty coffee can – My own personal worst fear could lead to my family's worst nightmare: Me without my morning coffee.

These are a few of my most fearful things, but in the spirit of Halloween, I've conjured up my vision of the most frightening, most realistic, most terrifying haunted house ever... enter if you dare:

The House of Eternal Clutter!

The first stop in this horror-provoking attraction is the (Abandon Hope All Ye Who) Entry Way: Sort through piles of abandoned shoes, bags, coats and other assorted detritus to clear a path through this deceptively small looking room and make your way to the...

Living (Dead) Room: Wind your way around the mountains of used tissues, stacks of papers and perilously leaning towers of books, and climb over haphazardly strewn blankets and pillows in your quest to find the three remotes required to activate the television and trigger the exit door. Once you figure out the right combination of buttons you may enter the...

Slumberless Bedchamber: Get your mind out of the gutter! By the time you sort, fold, and put away all the laundry accumulated on the king (kong)-sized bed, you'll be too tired to think of anything other than escape. Drag your bleary-eyed self to …

Rapuzel's Bathroom: Hair, hair everywhere, and not a bottle of Liquid Plumr to be found. The only drain not sporting a clump of hair the size of a housecat is the toilet, and it is filled with a roll of toilet paper. You'd better hope that plunger unclogs the passage to the final room on this tour...

(Hell's) Kitchen: You can see the parking lot from here! To earn your freedom all you have to do is prepare a nutritious breakfast... and wash the dishes in time to make a hearty lunch... and wash dishes in time to cook a bountiful dinner... and wash dishes... and plan for tomorrow's meals....

Enough, you say! Make a run for it! Jump over the laundry baskets, dodge the overflowing wastebaskets, stumble over the shoes piled in front of the exit! Freedom, sweet freedom!

But wait! The house has reset. All that cleaning you did has been undone! You're going to have to start all over again!

Hmmmm... that sounds awfully familiar. Are those shrieking violins I hear?

Daydream Drooling

As the long, hot summer drags on with only reruns and summer-season shoot 'em up, bite 'em ups on TV, I'm counting down the days until the new season of Haven starts. While I impatiently wait, my mind starts to wander.... What if I lived in Haven? (My life would certainly be less weird.) What if I could write for Haven? (I think I could tone down the weirdness in my real life enough to make it believable on screen.) What if I could meet the actors? What if... in the spirit of a hot and steamy summer... I could meet and interview Eric Balfour, Mr. Hot and Steamy himself? (And it's not easy picking just one hot and steamy guy from that cast.) Oh yeah, what could possibly go wrong?

Me: Thank you, Mr. Balfour, for agreeing to this interview.

EB: Please, call me Eric.

Me: OK... Eric. Well, um, as I was saying, thank you for being so shirtless, I mean so considerate, to meet with me. Shirtless. And why shouldn't you be? Shirtless, that is.

     I mean, it is summer, and you are soooo hot. I mean it's sooo hot outside. Where you were before you came here... inside... shirtless.... hmmm.

EB: I'm really sorry. The photo shoot ran long, and I didn't have time to pick up a shirt. I didn't mean to offend-

ME: NO! No! I mean (ahem) no, I'm not offended, not at all.

It's all drool... I mean cool. It's all cool. It's not like I'm drooling... much. Shirtless guys. Pfft. No big. As if.

     You're my chest... I mean guest... You're my guest... I want you to be delectable... I mean comfortable. And you look good shirtless. It's a good look for you. It works. For you.

     I'm just not really used to interviewing half-naked men. Would you care to make it completely nayyy... naaay-ever mind.

     You see, back home in the Midwest, it's too cold to go shirtless for about 11 months out of the year. Not that that stops some guys... although they're usually not the ones you want to see shirtless. It's all pasty-white man boobs and beer bellies back there. Trust me, there's not enough mental floss in the world to get rid of the things you see in downtown Iowa City after a home Hawkeye football win.

     But you... are sooooo NOT like that.

     You're like, sculpted to perfection. And maybe just a little bit beyond perfection.

     It's kind of intimidating, sitting so close to this much perfection.

EB: Well, there is a little air brushing involved.

ME: Really? But how? I mean, it's really you, sitting right there... how could...? (I lean forward and squint to get a better look.)

     Wow. Your abs are amazing. I mean that's amazing... the airbrushing.... They can really do that?

EB: No. Just kidding. Thought a little joke might break the ice. You know, help you relax (he flashes a megawatt smile).

ME: Oh! (I giggle nervously.) Of course. That's funny. (Another giggle.) And it's really kind of you to try and help me.... And speaking of help, here's someone with a shirt for you. Great. (Sigh)

     Just great.

     Like that will stop my lustful thoughts... I mean ... Oops! I lost my train of thought.

     But now that you are fully clothed, I'm sure I can rip that shirt right off your back… I mean turn back to my list of questions. Deep, insightful questions which I compiled after trolling the internet for your biography – and shirtless pictures – in a purely professional and not at all stalker-ish manner.

     Because as a (former) journalist, I would never let myself be distracted by a hot body and handsome face... I mean a haa... umm... nope. I got nothing. I went there.

     And you know what? I'm good with that. I'm not the kind of gal who gets all swoony and star-struck, obsessively reading People Magazine (unless I'm in a waiting room). But it's been a long, hot, boring, Haven-less summer, and I'm just really, really looking forward to the start of season four.

     So, what do you say? Can you give me any hints about what we can look forward to this season? Will Audrey and Duke make it back from wherever the heck the barn went? Will Nathan be able to feel again? Will Dave and Vince ever cut loose with the secrets? Will Dwight get overtime for dealing with meteorites? Will having Colin Ferguson join the cast put you over the limit for amazingly hot actors?

     Will any episodes – and by “any” I mean “Please God let them all” – feature you shirtless?

Hey, a girl can daydream, can't she?