Scared Unto Spaghetti

I sense more frequent glimpses these days into what it's like to think, talk, and act like an adult. Minor things, like conversations, or interactions with staff members or students, but things that are probably generally good for me. Of course, there is the flip side, which is the recurring feeling of being far behind my peers in maturity, experience, and ambition. Staying busy with unproductive things usually helps dissuade me from such thoughts. Thank goodness for that loophole.

Editing photos has been a recent distraction.

I'm off duty this weekend. So I'm going to race my legs into overcooked spaghetti on the Moscow Madness trail race—a half marathon in Moscow... Idaho.

The other day we went to Camp Mivoden for the school's fall picnic and I ran on some trails behind their property. I think a couple sections were the steepest trails I've ever run on. Running up those sections was sluggish, as far as overall speed is concerned, but I can't say the same for my heart rate or breathing. And going down was one of the most acutely terrifying things I've done in recent memory. I got to a point—before I realized what was happening—where I couldn't stop myself because of the dusty slipperiness of the descent without risking harm . And if I had fallen, well, there were lots of sharp rocks for my forearms and ribs to enjoy during several dozen feet of bounce-rolling-falling my body would have thanked me for. More! More! it would have said. No. No, we will not do that again, I would have whimpered on my long limp home.

And that's the extent of my life's adventures. And no one was around to verify the level of "terror" actually induced by that terrain. It probably would look like stairs to some people.

Here's a screenshot of our race route and elevation profile:

I took two young gentlemen to the hospital last night to get stitches. (One of my responsibilities is being one of the drivers on certain days.) They bumped heads during a flag football game last night. Drills, actually, they said. There was a lady there who looked like a corpse. No joke. I stared at her for a couple seconds wondering if it was some weird mannequin for training. She was pale as... death, and her eyes were closed and her mouth was just slightly open. Basically like the CPR dummies, except slightly less plastic looking and much older. Yikes. Poor lady. She was alive. I don't want to work in hospitals anymore. Or do I?