I still have another Brian masterpiece that I am adding a few comments on - regarding "talking runners" but this one couldn't wait!

Castigating Dan

Brian Peacock

January 24, 2007

The weather was not as cold as it had been of late; shorts and a T-shirt were the order of the day, even at the 7.30 meeting time at Coyote Lane. The five MM stalwarts crowded into the Hyundai driven by an angel, who dumped us in the middle of nowhere faced by 17 miles up the hill to Jerome Arizona and the promise of a hamburger to die for, which could well have been the case. The sprightly Heidi soon left the pack, loping along easily with a herd of antelope. The dogged Dan, who had organized this jaunt was accompanied by the happy Heather, the sober Steve and the bin there done that Brian. The dirt road cut through the flat valley and then turned right up Mingus Mountain. And that’s when the castigating began. The road became narrower and steeper and rockier and muddier. The views across the valleys were framed by low clouds, a rare sight in this sunny state. 

The road meandered up one side of a mountain to a hairpin bend then back along the other side of the valley and so on ever upward. The conversation was light – we touched on linguistic theory, cognitive science, design engineering and political strategy, before the mud and the rocks and the gradient took our breath away and it was time to castigate Dan. We discussed whether to castigate, chastise or perform major surgery out there on the mountain side. A vote was taken and a Mountain Milers constitutional amendment was passed that all run planners who plan uphill, long, muddy and rocky routes should be castigated, without the opportunity of reprieve and furthermore they should buy lunch for the castigators. So the castigating began. After a while the quaint quartet tired of castigating and focused on the challenge ahead. When are we going to get there someone asked? Our castigee consulted his GPS and replied that he believed that the actual distance would be 18 rather than 17 miles as originally forecast, so the castigating began again in earnest. 

The hapless Dan, accompanied by the talkative Heather, soon tired of this castigating, so they ran ahead out of earshot and the scene changed for the ancient Brit and the suffering Steve. This suffering soon led to a role change. Steve would ask “old man are you sure that you don’t need a rest, perhaps we should walk a while and admire the view, I would hate to have to carry you out of the wilderness if you died on the mountainside; on the other hand perhaps I should just dump you over the edge. “  The bounding Brian was wise to this projection, having studied psychology 50 years ago, so he recognized that the sly Steve was just looking for an excuse to walk, so walk we did. Every now and again guilt caught up with us so we jogged a little way before repeating the disingenuous dialog. The dreadful duo were now becoming delirious with fatigue and altitude and changed their focus to the fallen angel Julie, who they were sure hid around corners until she saw them coming and then drove another mile further on. It felt good to have another target and it provided another excuse to walk and admire the wispy clouds darting up and down the valleys ahead and to the side. Eventually after and age of suffering we caught up with our water stop person and all was forgiven. We feasted on energy drink and Twinkies and hitched a ride for a couple of hundred yards until we caught up with the flagging flusie and the dastardly Dan. By now there were only five miles to go and we were all reenergized by our diet of Twinkies and jungle juice, the long downhill ahead, the view across the valley and the smell of hamburgers. We even forgave the route planner for miscalculating the distance, which had now grown to an awesome twenty miles. Castigation was a thing of the past and reconstructive surgery was planned for the near future. We were happy, because we were great runners, we strode down the hill at a great rate of knots, we praised ourselves for being greater beings than all those other Tom, Dick and Harrys who were chomping on the fat pills in the famous hamburger restaurant in Jerome, AZ. On arrival at the restaurant we found a hungry Heidi, who had run some 23 miles, sitting patiently at the reserved table in the restaurant. She said that she had been there for about two hours and had almost called the search and rescue brigade. We all ordered different shades of hamburger and sides; I do believe that there may be some sinister difference between people who order twice baked potatoes and those who flavor their burgers with BBQ, onions or mushrooms; and those who order a salad to eat before the 1000 calorie burger and fries must really be schizophrenic. Real runners don’t let fellow runners eat healthy food. The singing sextet enjoyed their time at the trough and wandered down to the wool shop with the reinstated angel. All is well in heaven and on the roads. Where and when shall we meet next week?