I have been a slacker...Yes, I will admit to that.
But man, do I have some stories to share! It is joooooooooohny blaze outside right now, so running has been tough. So, that gives me a good excuse to stay inside and catch up on this site, yeah? OK, OK, I will.
So I am known for my gastro-intestinal fortitude. What, we are all friends here, I can be brutally honest. Anyhow, like I was saying, I have been known to drop heat like it is nobody's bidness. At first, I just thought it was genetic, that my magical toots were sent down generation by generation like some sick heirloom. Not that my potency isn't a gift, far from it. But, I have come to realize that I, unlike the rest of my family, have a legit problem that I may need to address with some seriousness (hahahhahahahhahhahaha) soon. Why, you ask? Do you sense a good story coming up? Mmmmmm, me too. Come, hop in, let's go for a trip on Brian's bat @$@# crazy adventure train. wHOOOOOO wHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
And awaaaaaaay we go!
Alrighty, so there I was, running...wait, let me set the stage. Picture this: poom poom running shorts, tube socks, big and sexy white running shoes, no shirt, and a ripped t-shirt sleeve as a headband. Add in a tall, lanky white boy and some seriously flowing locks and you have the anti-Dorchester superhero. Yes, that was me, out for a run at the normal hour of 9 PM last week, trying to get in 6 miles. Normally six miles is nothing, I can go out, cruise along and not think anything of it. This time was a tad bit different, though, because my stomach had more nefarious plans for me.
I reached the hill on G street in southie without a problem, which is about 3 miles in. I usually decide at his point if I am going to run up it or walk it, depending on how my ankle feels. For any of you that live in this area and know G street, I am sure you are well aware of the grade this hill has to offer. I seriously wouldn't ride a bike down that jammy without consulting a physician. Yeah, it is that surious. When my refurbished ankle is being a punk b, I can feel the tendons pulling on the pins in my bone while running up this brutalis street.
That's always a fun sensation.
Anyway, I was about to make the decision on whether or not to summit Mt. Southie when my colon sent a heeeeeeeeeeeyyyyoooooooooo shivering through my stomach. Like most, I grabbed the nearest sturdy object, whimpered and proceeded to sweat.
"Ooook, that's a wrinkle I wasn't expecting. AWESOME."
I thought to myself, "Well, I could walk up the hill, get the rest of my miles in and risk public embarrassment and some serious chaffage or I could take the short way, head down the seaside and hope that this volcano doesn't erupt before all are evacuated. Hill and bad things or short way...rumble, rumble...OOOOOOK, seaway it is."
So I get my jog on (it's a soft J) along the beach, looking out over the beautiful moonlit water, thinking I had mad the right move. I mean, I was within eye sight of the church that sits right at the end of my street. Safe, right? Well, I thought so too. Unfortunately, I still had about a mile to go when BAAAAAAAAAM, my stomach threw a super-nose drop kick and let me know I better clench and get a move on.
Have you ever seen how a penguin walks? Well, picture that but replace the cute little creature with a 6'4'' guy with not enough clothes and way too much hair. Cover him with sweat and throw in a few tears and presto, there I am, so close to home and safety yet so far away. I tried to look around for cover, maybe I would be able to duck into a few shrubs and get on with it. Too bad I was a) next to a beach b) that is located in a city and c) everything is made of concrete. The only shrubs that were in located within a ten block radius were bought in sold in little plastic bags. So it was at this point I was feeling awesome about myself and the situation I was in. The best part was the major road that I was next to, the one with all of the people on it....staring at me.
I didn't think I was going to make it. I waited for a lull in traffic long enough for me to waddle across the street and not get hit. Upon reaching the opposite sidewalk, I realized my only option was the park about 2oo yards up the road. I know what you are thinking,
"What? A park? Brian, go there, there has be some cover there!"
Easy there, buster, this isn't a Create Your Own Ending story, let me get to it. So, this park isn't like most, as it is void of anything bearing leaves. All that's available is open space, lots of wiiiiiiiide, and OPEN, space. Not the most ideal setting for one to do what he has to do. But, you know what, I kind of was out of options so I went ahead and set the land speed record for the clench 200 meter walk. Amazing pace, beautiful form, naturally.
Through shear mental fortitude, I made it to the entrance of the park, but barely. I still was not far enough from the road to be out of site but it didn't matter, as I was out of the most important thing, time. Taking a last desperate look around for a hidden spot and the shambles of my dignity, I spotted a random set of bleachers a few paces ahead.
"got.........to........get............theeeeeeeeeeeere..........aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhHHHHHHHH."
And with one last mighty move, I reached the stands and assumed the position, letting out a yell reminiscent of Roger Banister crossing the finish line in 3:59. I had done it, folks, I had really pulled it off. Out of time, out of room, with despair only a cheek away, I managed to do the impossible without being spott......
"Pardon us...sorry...just passing by....sorry," said the little old man and his curios dog.
There I was, afro completely jacked up, covered in sweat, panting out of pure fear, daisy dukes no where to be seen. There was nothing I could do, nothing at all. For what I had been through in the last 20 minutes, to come so close to pulling off the impossible, ruined in the last second. I bowed my head, shrugged my shoulders and gave a huge, defeated,
"Hey."
What? What did you want me to say? Ask him how his day was, how the Sox were doing? Yeah, I didn't think so.
As the little old man walked away, retinas bleeding from our encounter, I pulled myself together and started the rest of my walk home.
There is nothing like marathon training the Brian Hetzel way....
I could care less that he was a great journalist; I was more interested in how he carried himself off the set, as a son, a husband, and a father. Mr. Russert was not afraid to express how much he cared for and loved his family, as he wrote two books about the subject. For this reason, Tim Russert was one of my idols. He also happened to be a really great guy.
