I've the monkey on my foot

So this was Christmas and what have I done? The usual stuff, I suppose. At some point, I may post a litany of the numerous offerings intended to buy off my support/friendship for another year. This is not that time nor can I imagine why anyone would care if I'm the proud owner of a Stylophone (Chris is awesome) or some new trousers. So really nothing good can come from any of that at all. I apologize for ever mentioning such things.

I'm into the home stretch of marathon training with an 8-miler the only run of any consequence left. Last week's 12 miles was uneventful and went quite well, 1:45. Somewhat of a relief after the disaster that was my 20 miles the previous Saturday. Let's not mention it again, shall we?

The past two marathons have been hot and humid. This is rather uncharacteristic of Florida, so I'm hoping that the four winds will shine on me a bit more this year. Or more accurately, Mr. Cold Mizer. Regardless, after two years and over 2000 miles run in total training I know what's in store physically. Which is precisely what I'll tell myself when I'm gassed at mile 21 and getting passed by a dude on crutches.**

Though I guess it's ultimately hard to top the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ in last week's event department, a relatively close second would have been the wedding of the EPJ's second or third son (I don't remember who's actually older since she got them at a 2-for-1 discount) on Saturday. Since they know how much I love social gatherings and am particularly partial to any that require formal attire, I was among the chosen few invited.

I felt quite the member of some exclusive club until I got to the church and saw enough people to overthrow a small island nation off the coast of Mexico. Apparently, the last couple of Sunday papers included a invitation for you and a guest along with the requisite coupons.

Regardless Marisol, Madeline, Maureen allowed me to drive them to the shindig because big city traffic is scary and whatnot. My luck runneth over. So we headed out into the Saturday afternoon fog towards Atlanta.

Maureen: It sure has been foggy this week. How long has it been foggy?

Me: Since we left home. (rim shot)

Though I was pretty confident in my ability to find the church (I'm pretty familiar with Atlanta at this point), they insisted on plugging up the Garmin. Ostensibly to help me navigate, but in reality just to complain that it wasn't correcting itself fast enough.

Marisol (annoyed): It's telling us to turn after we get past the turn.

Me: Oh, gosh. Hopefully I'll be able to find an alternate route before we hit Mississippi.

Since there was a wedding going on down the street from ours, I started to pull into the wrong church and see how long it would take anyone to notice after we sat down. Plus, I've always wanted to be one of the "speak now or forever hold your peace" crowd. What could be more fun than popping in unknown and annoucing to the assembled that you were friends with the bride in high school. When she was a boy.

I resisted the temptation, however. My being shot by a stranger will have to wait till another day.

As luck would have it, we arrived at the right church in plenty of time to get prime seats right down front. This would have been great for most but since we were hoping to sneak out if things got bogged down, not exactly the best for us. Nevertheless, we sat down and spent the rest of the time before the ceremony looking backwards trying to see who was coming in.

As one does.

Eventually things got under way with the arrival of the 17(!) brides attendants/maids/golfing buds/street urchins. Can't help but wonder how unloved that unlucky 18th gal must feel--I really appreciate you naming your first born after me and all, but I'm sorry I simply cannot have more than 17 people clogging my scene. Cheers.

Then there was the paltry by comparison groomsmen. Only 4? Really, gents you must try harder.

As for the ceremony, I suppose my companions would say it was lovely or beautiful or romantic or something equally mushy. With no disrespect intended to the lovely bride and groom, I sort of zoned out once the minister got going with his message. The title of which was "Lovingly loving the lovely word 'love'". Not sure how much he got for the gig, but since he was paid per usage of the word "love", I think he did pretty good for a otherwise unemployed Saturday evening.

Anyway, next thing I new we were being presented with the bride and groom and the prospect of free booze. Not being a drinker this held little excitement for me but Madeline and Maureen could hardly contain themselves. Or so Andy thought.

No doubt a relief to the bride's family, I believe everyone who was at the wedding took in the reception. There was enough food to feed, uh, a small island nation off the coast of Mexico and a bar in every corner. Hallelujah. When we got there the band was already kicking out the jams to an indifferent bit of older folks only wishing to critique the proceedings. Our arrival lowered the median age of attendants somewhat but did little to enliven the dance floor. Youth and alcohol would take effect soon enough.

Actually, much quicker than I expected.

The bride and groom had scarcely arrived before I heard the announcement of the "first dance". Much to the relief of the groom and probably everyone else, I let him have his moment since Marisol wasn't much up on dancing. Next thing I know the EPJ was cutting her own rug with anyone she could find.

I hid in the corner. For my own sake.

Once the EPJ decided to take a breather, my crew figured we better seek her out so she would know we were there. Kind of like how celebrities make it a point of telling how they give to some charity. What's the point of attending anything if you're not going to the payoff of being thanked for coming? Actually, the honor for me was in being invited but my companions insisted she know we were there. Fortunately, I don't need such constant reinforcement.

I keed.

We all wanted to make sure she knew we there.

Again, I keed.

Actually, it was a rather nice evening out. And nice to be in the audience instead of up on the stand as I've been for the two previous weddings this year. Nevertheless, I'm in no hurry to attend any more any time soon. On the way home, Madeline asked Marisol with a wink and a nudge if she was bummed that we didn't stay for the bouquet toss and subsequent scrum. "No" was her immediately reply. Amen, my dear. Amen.

I keed.

**My first marathon was an exercise in extreme highs and lows. Jazzed and feeling stupidly confident that I was in no danger at all of not completing 26.2, I noted with some condescending sadness the fellow on crutches ahead. I quickly got passed him. "Man," I thought, "He's got a long day ahead of him. What a trooper though."

Flash forward 4 hours and it's taking everything I've got to make it to the medical tent at mile 22. Hoping to stave off the impending vomit, I noticed a familiar chap on my right: my becrutched friend. While there's undeniably an encouraging thought in there, namely, "What a trooper! If he can make it, I know I can," when one is finding it hard to literally make another step, it's closer to "Bloody hell, I'm getting outwalked by a guy on crutches. That I passed four hours ago! Better get to the side before some Rascal-riding, oxygen-masked septuagenarian plows me down."

But through sheer determination, I eventually finished and got my medal.

And that becrutched man went on to become the next President of the United States, Barack Obama.

So I guess we both won.