|Yes, Mango, you're a hero, too.|
One can ask for a great trail, and one got that: a bit over four miles, round the scenic lakes of Reston. One can ask that the walkers have a seasoned guide, and Oral Advocate took charge. One can ask for great weather, and one can make do with hot and humid, but not melting oozy puddle hot-and-humid; just mid-June-what-do-you-expect hot and humid. One can ask that the severe thunderstorms hold off and they did, for huge-ola bonus points. One can ask for pizza, having looked forward to it all day (sing along: "Oh yay, hooray, today is pizza day; oh yay, hooray, today is pizza day..."), and one got plenty of that, along with Black Box and a selection of IPAs, and then there were what looked like Girl Scout cookies, too.
And the neighbors can stop to ask what on earth is going on, with all these semi-dressed people drooping over the walkways. They accepted the explanation and went on their way. Had they seen Mufti calling the roll, they might not have been so sanguine.
Plenty of excitement in the roll today: Mary from Annapolis finally added her name to the list, estimating this is her fifth GFH3 run; Queen Cobra hit 222 (rhymes with "oooh"); Dave and Gale both hit 35; and all the way from Albuquerque, Ghanarhea (who actually has a different name now, but it's not as great as 'Ghanarhea') stepped up for special notice. AAAAnd... Bite Me celebrated (I know you can't always tell with her, but I'm confident that expletive was a celebratory one, masquerading as complaint) her 900TH RUN! It is, as Mufti notes, "a remarkable milestone."
|Please don't make me use my goofy new name!|
And then... and then... the Mufti produced a familiar-looking black frame, and spun it around to reveal Bob Raymond's well-preserved smelly t-shirt, or what we sometimes call the Death March Award. Hisses sibililated through the gloaming. The shameful nominees rang in the air: second runner ups: Airhorne, Brogue Bait and Pumpmaster, at least one of whom had faked major surgery (there is no such thing as a back replacement) to avoid hearing the calumnies heaped upon him. Runner-up: Easy Strider, who impresses no one when he hits mile eight on his bicycle for silly's sake. And then: the colossal losers of the Death March Award 2013... Greg and Lori, who immediately began pointing fingers every which way. Greg blamed Lori, Lori blamed Lezlee (who was mysteriously absent), and finally the whole hash chimed in to blame Mini Schlonga, who leaped and pranced and danced about in the shower of booing righteously descending upon him.
Don't forget to carpool next week, and if you get lonely before then, all your friends are here in the pix.