Karen: I wish it wasn't true, just as I wish my daughter would have kept it
to her self, but hey, what are children for if it isn't to torture and
otherwise ruin their parents lives.  Elizabeth is better at that than most,
and I have a story to tell about her.
 
Elizabeth is a really fast mile runner.  She first qualified for state as a
freshman, but her 6th grade times were good enough even then.  Well, I
occasionally help the little creep train, which means I ride my bike next to
her and maintain a constant pace for her.  (I have one of those rad and
really cool radar speedometers!).  Often, Elizabeth will wear one of those
small backpacks commonly used to carry books, filled with 20 lbs of sand.
On this morning, she came over and set her stuff down in the front room, and
ran upstairs to read the FML on my computer.  I had only dragged my butt out
of bed a few minutes earlier, working late at night on a chapter of the
disseration from hell.  When I finally got my act together, she retrieved
her pack, and we went outside for the run.
 
Elizabeth took off and I followed her slowly down the lane.  In Columbia,
there are few bike lanes, and even fewer sidewalks, so we headed down the
hill to the MKT Trail, then down that for 5 miles, then backtracked a bit
and up a hell of a long hill towards home.  For me and my powerful and
stocky legs, the ride is a piece of cake, and the hardest thing for me to do
is hold the pace down for Elizabeth.  Normally I crank the ratios up to make
the ride harder, but sometimes I just crank them down and practice my
revolutions.  Also, I tend to follow just behind Elizabeth because she talks
when I am beside her, throwing off her rythym, and because I can better see
her form as she runs.  I have to remind her not to roll on the outside of
her foot as she runs--messes up her patella.
 
So there you have it.  This beautiful slim young woman running, an ugly
stocky guy sleepily biking behind heer, and a single ferret head stuck out
the back of her backpack.  Did I say ferret head?  It seems that when
Elizabeth left her backpack on the floor, Crystal, who knows how to unzip
the things, climbed in to make herself home.  Elizabeth picked the pack up
and slipped it on without being aware of her new roommate.  Of course I
became very concerned, so picked the pace up just a bit to catch up and
retrieve my wayward pet.  Elizabeth must have caught sight of me, so decided
to increase her pace.
 
My shouts for her to slow down went on deaf ears because stuck inside those
ears were plugs connected to a walkman, and its hard to shout over Metalica
cranked up to 2000 decibals.  She says she likes the beat for running.
Sensing my words were failing to make an empression, I sped up.  So did
Elizabeth.  In the meantime, Crystal is doing one of those "head things,"
where Ferrets move their head all over the place, pivoting their neck at the
shoulders.  She is also starting to crawl out more to investigate her new
surroundings.  So I sped up and started shouting for Elizabeth to stop.
 
I realized the only thing I could do was to pass and stop her from the
front, so I did so, but Elizabeth just started running faster and swerved
around me, with a huge grin.  She thought it was a game!  So I took off
after her, only to see Crystal about 2/3rds of the way out of the bag.  So I
cowboyed it, and swooped in to snatch Crystal.  My timing was perfect, my
skill fantastic.  With one swoop, my right hand snatched Crystal, plucking
her from potiential death.  Crystal, not to be undone, decided to do me one
better, and with her right hand, plucked a single silver chain from around
Elizabeth's neck.  Now, Crystal was unable to maintain the same grip and
steadfastness of muscular tone as I, and was forced to let go, but not
before she pulled the chain taut, causing the silver medallion to yank up
and smack Elizabeth on the chin.
 
Startled, Elizabeth looked eye-to-eye with a passing Crystal, let out a
hollar, then started to brake.  I actually mean skid.  And, like everything
else she does, she skidded quite nicely, right off the trail into a ditch
full of muddy water, muddy leaves, and muddy mud.  Honing her gynmastic
skills, she did a roll, tucking the shoulder perfectly, and landed on the
only part of her anatomy that has any padding at all, ending waist-deep in
good Missouri mud.
 
I also skidded to a stop, while Crystal was acting like one of those toy
clip-on animals, clamped onto my forearm.  I yelled to see if Elizabeth was
ok, and was met with a heidious noise.  At first I thought Elizabeth was
dying, so I dropped my bike and ran over.  To my surprise, I was hit in the
chest with a mud ball, or the approximate form mud takes when being flung.
Crystal was still clipped to my right forearm, so I couldn't defend myself
rightly, and just rushed in to stop the muddy barrage.  Elizabeth was
laughing wildly and tossing mud at me, saying stuff like, "I'll get you for
this," and "When you least expect it, expect it!" I needed to stop the
misunderstanding, so asked, "Is that a slug or is it a leech?"
 
Elizabeth sprang into the air and onto me, yelling, "get me out of here!"
Well, I would have, but even my powerfully muscled legs were mired in the
mud, so with Elizabeth's mass and my inertia, I sort of, well, tested the
floor of the mud pit with my butt.  Crystal decided my head was a better
perch, so leaped for the bill of my ball cap, knocking it off and landing in
the mud as well.  (I know, wear a helmet!  Kids, don't do this at home.)
 
Well, I scooped Crystal up, who decided to hide her indignity by crawling
inside my jacket, and helped Elizabeth to her feet.  I tried to explain what
happened, but I was not being believed.  Lucky for me, when Elizabeth opened
her backpack, she found a little reminder of what really happened.  Crystal
had left a single calling card!  Needless to say, Elizabeth dumped the
now-muddy sand, and was very embarrassed.  Both of us solicited strange
stares as we returned home, and Elizabeth was somewhat less animated than
usual.  We rinsed off with cold water from the garden hose (Crystal got a
warm bath indoors) and Elizabeth ran to the shower "to look for leeches."
She has still owes an apology for implying I would purposely cause such
events to occur.  I only wish I had.
 
Bob C and the 17 Missouri Mudders.
[Posted in FML issue 1917]