If you give me…
Weed, whites and wine
And you show me a sign
I’ll be willin’
To be movin’
— the prophet lowell george
—

Like a little toxic herbicide is going to kill you.

We’re walking up to the track and a guy on a John Deere buggy is spraying stuff from a huge tank. Apparently it’s dangerous enough that he’s wearing an industrial mask, but safe enough that he can spray it all over us. This must be a wondrous chemical indeed.

Mo, who is often referred to as “The Sane One of The Couple,” decides to avoid the situation and opts for the dirt loop going around the track complex. I, on the other hand, realize that if it kills me I won’t have to go to work today, inhale deeply and head for the start line.

It’s cold today (SIXTY DEGREES!!!) and windy and not as much fun as the brochures would indicate. I’m going hard day, easy day, and by my math yesterday was a hard day, so I’m just moseying.

I’m enjoying the 5k a Day program. It’s not intimidating, and I’m lazy. Maybe I’ll get faster. And monkeys will fly out of my butt. We’ll see.

I’m thinking it’s all about moderation. I can realistically sustain 3 miles a day, but not much more. Same way with pesticides. I get Mo’s panic over breathing the stuff, but aren’t we constantly bombarded with stuff? I gave up the beloved Diet Coke last year and recently read the story about a woman celebrating her 104th birthday. When asked for her secret to longevity, she credited her daily intake of Diet Coke. Maybe life is about worrying less. Worrying is surely the thing that kills us. Along with nuclear holocaust. Which makes me worry. I really need a Diet Coke.

It’s an OK day on the track. One of the 100 meter guys is totally hogging the front stretch today. He has an elaborate system with a camera at the start and at the finish of 40 meters. I’m not sure what you can learn from filming yourself. But I guess selfies are a thing with the kids now. I stay out of his way while secretly hoping to photo bomb him. Photo bombing is a thing with the kids now.

Paula Radcliffe is out without the kid, and another 200 woman is doing some serious  repeats. Wonder Woman water bottle. Nothing says serious 200s like a Wonder Woman bottle.

My legs are tired. It’s windy and cold (I might have mentioned that already) and I’m not having fun. I grab Mo and we do a dirt loop in the middle. Naturally, the pesticide guy has moved around to the softball field, so we get an extra snort.

And then, we’re done. The 40 meter guy drops a little round thing, maybe the starter for the cameras, as he sprints past. Mo asks if he knows he dropped it as he walks back. Yeah, he says. Hope it’s not broken, he says. Costs 150 bucks. Yikes. Sprinting is expensive.

We head for the car, leaving Paula Radcliffe and the sprinter behind. I forget to turn my watch off. No doubt a side effect of snorting pesticide. Upside: No weeds will grow inside me for the foreseeable future.

I hope this stuff doesn’t kill the monkeys in my butt before they can fly out. Diet Coke, here I come …