Luke: Your Mug on a Mug

“Your race pictures now available!!” The email said, alerting me to the fact that I could buy a 4x6 of myself looking like hell for the low, low price of $9.95. Or “Get Your Mug on a Mug!” for $24.95.

Does anyone actually buy these? I guess I could see if it was a bucket list marathon, or you ran dressed up as Yoda or something, but otherwise…what do you do with a picture of yourself with a patch of blood in your nippular region, leg hair matted and sticky from spilled Gatorade, a weird white substance that you really, really hope is Body Glide caked across your inner thigh, and your face looking like you're moments away from vomiting on your shoes or the shoes of the 75-year-old woman next to you, who looks positively gazelle-like in comparison?

And that was one of the good pictures.

(And don’t even get me started on the idea of pictures in 5k races. What is that about?)

It doesn’t help that I have horrible running form. Terrible. No good. Very bad. I blame it on having knee issues during my formative years, unable to run for extended periods of time without pain from the ages of about 12-19 thanks to Osgood-Schlatters or “Growing Pains.” As it was explained (“Show me that smile again.”)…uh, to me the bones in my leg (“Don’t waste another minute on your cryin’.”)…um, are fused together so there’s a (“The best is ready to begin”)…I’m sorry, that’s really distracting. Are you done yet? (“Yes”)

*pause*

So like I was saying, (“Ooooooh.....As long as we’ve got each other,”)…sigh…(“Baby rain or shine, all the time, we got each other, Sharing the laughter and loooooove.”) I hate you, you know that right? (“Sharing the laughter and looooove!”)

(Who would have ever guessed that Ben Seaver would turn out to be the only normal kid from that show?)

Aaaanyway, so I didn’t run track or cross country in high school, sticking to golf as my only school sanctioned sport, and bike racing during the summers (having a shoe box of medals is almost as cool as a letter jacket, right? Oh wait, I earned a letter for band. Yep. That. cool.) and so I never really learned “how” to run. I just ran.

Which probably explains why I run like...well, let’s take a look at a sample race picture, this from the 2009 Indianapolis Community Marathon...

Do you see it?

No? Really?

Okay what about now?

Yep, I run like a dinosaur.

With my arms carried too far back (No wonder I spill Gatorade on myself during races. It looks like I need to just toss the cup into the air and try to catch as much as I can in my mouth because there’s no way those stubby little things are getting anywhere near my mouth), a slight forward lean (which would be balanced by my tail, except for, you know, I don’t have a tail), and a relatively short stride for my height, I look like I should be going “Brrraaaaagggghhhh!” and chasing after a jeep being driven by Jeff Goldblum.

It’s okay though. I’ve come to accept it. There are people who look goofier than I do. Like…uh…Phoebe from that one episode of Friends. And Speedy Gonzalez, who despite being the fastest mouse in all of Me-hico doesn’t use his arms at all. And anybody doing the Running Man. (And to answer your question, yes, me doing the Running Man is just as hilarious/pitiful as you think it is).

And the fact that my dad runs the same way suggests that some ancestor must have been very good at hiding because genetically we’re not going to be outrunning any kind of predator.

Or catching Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park. *shakes fist * Next time Goldblum…next time…