Brenda first emailed me about The Race for the Cure. Breast Cancer...not what my mother had. She had the "lucky number 13th" case ever diagnosed on a strain that kills so fast they haven't bothered to name it...but I figure that any Cancer research benefits the greater good, right?

I didn't know much about it, but I had it on good authority that the last-Saturday-in-April rendezvous with Crazy Legs is the last bit of enthusiasm Nick showed toward running until the advent of the next Spring.

However, when I mentioned the run to Nick, to my dual surprise and delight, he agreed wholeheartedly to participate. It's his inside running joke that he feels cheap doing these charity runs with me...I mean, if it was for a good cause and all, he says that'd be different...but Cancer!? C'mon. I mean, the proceeds don't even go toward college sports programs. Where's the honor in that!?

We headed out this morning, and it was, for me, what I call "a bad performance". Never have I been so grateful as to not be wearing a timing chip on my shoe. That much sucking need not be documented to the millisecond. So I've pretty much determined that my insides are mucked up and I've gotta start eating better...and more regularly.

Oh yeah, and the gym. Yes, I've been slacking again. Too much of this "I don't feel good" stuff...I have to remember Mom, who told me after her mega-intense surgery in 2003, after which they told her she'd never be Cancer-free, that she can't stop the disease from thriving, but she can keep her body conditioned to fight it as long as possible. She was walking four miles a day before the month-anniversary of her surgery that left with stitches from "stem to stern" along her front.

I felt badly for Nick, who could have clocked in a truly awesome time if not for his kindness in adjusting his pace to mine. I'm not above realizing that the implementation of a timing chip might have changed his decision to do so, but that's neither here nor there. In hindsight, I feel Nick's awesomeness can be attributed to his beginning the day with a smile:



I came downstairs just before we left wearing the t-shirt Nick picked up for me on Thursday, along with our running packets—he snorted, telling me I had to go change because that was the shirt HE was wearing today, and he didn't want to look like a couple. I wasn't sympathetic, and we created the ultimate faux pas, wearing exactly what EVERYBODY ELSE THERE was wearing. Originality is for the birds. Sameness, a gray-scaled existance, that's the vibrancy of life.

Gray-scale is probably a poor word choice for this event, however. Nick called it on the way to the course, "I'm going to see a lot of pink today, aren't I?" Mmmmhmmmm. But it isn't so bad! Just look! Sun Chips packages special Susan B. Komen-pink bags just for this national event...and they all have to be consumed THAT DAY. The box pictured above served as Nick's booty for the day.

Congratulations, Nick! You are now the proud owner of 104 pink-bagged Sun Chips!