What to do in Case of a Total Suck Fest

        Warning: use of the word "fool" is excessive in this post- even for me.  If this does not bother you, proceed.  If it does bother you, you're probably no fun...and a fool.     

        I hate running on the treadmill, but I hate getting murdered more.  So, since it's been getting dark earlier and earlier, I have been running on the freaking treadmill on Monday evenings.  It. Is. Torturous.    Then again, last week I ran hills in Sammamish.  Which is to say, I pretty much ran pure hills.  I literally ran uphill both ways on that run.  Also. Torturous.

        It's at times like that when I have to ask myself why I would continue to subject myself to something that is such a suckfest.  Literally.  (I don't know if you know this, but I actually hate the word "literally" because it is so often misused.  For example, have you ever heard someone say, 'I am literally sweating my balls off!'?  Unless there are testicles on the floor in front of you, someone is absolutely not literally sweating his balls off.  It seems like simple diction, but you'd be surprised.  Or maybe you wouldn't?  I think we'd all be the most surprised if some dude literally sweat his balls off.)

I would tell myself this when I run up hills, but I am  always eating such a huge suck sandwich that I can't get the words out. 

        Besides, what's so great about "lapping everybody on the couch"?  At least the fools sitting on the couch can drink a box of wine if they want.  I daresay it's nearly impossible to drink box o' wine while running hills.  At the very least, it's probably not worth the effort. Who's the fool now?  The fool running hills with no wine.  

        Please don't tell me you're against wine in a box.  It is awesome.

This equals two bottles of wine, and you can keep it in the fridge for up to four weeks.  As if two bottles of wine last that long.

        I am running on the blasted treadmill, and Sammamish hills because of the Seattle [Half] Marathon.  We discussed this already- I am the dumb ass that is running 13.1 miles with a gut full of cranberries and tryptophan the Sunday after Thanksgiving.   Make no mistake, this is all my own doing.

Just like this is all Jay Cutler's own doing.

        However, it is all semi - tolerable because of my running buddies.  If you should ever happen to find yourself eating a suck sandwich in the middle of a suckfest that is uphill both ways, make sure you recruit your favorite fool to be your partner in crime.  (Or at the very least, find someone to be your running buddy so you don't become a victim of crime.)  Also, make sure your favorite fool knows where to procure only the finest boxed wine.

One of these fools gets wine at the gas station, so yeah... we're pretty good friends.