The thing about growing up is that even though you might have more responsibilities, you’ll still have opportunities to do something foolish. And as long as your foolishness doesn’t hurt someone else, then I’m all for it. Long live fools and foolishness!I recently enjoyed a bout of foolishness during which it seemed like a good idea to combine two interests of mine: beer and running. This is particularly interesting because if you were to ask me to name my hobbies or interests I’d probably spew a list that included writing, reading, music, movies, running, food, and beer.If you asked me to combine two of those hobbies into one activity, the worst possible combination would probably be beer and running.Yet there’s an event called the Beer Mile. The bedrock rules are simple. Drink a beer, run a quarter mile. Drink a beer, run a quarter mile. Drink a beer, run a quarter mile. Drink a beer, run a quarter mile.In case you lost count that’s four beers, four quarter miles. Or four beers in a mile.Last weekend I decided to run the beer mile with a friend of mine, Mike. We’re two reasonably smart fellows. He’s an eye doctor. I sometimes know the answers on Jeopardy. We’re both married. We have families. Yet we decided to spend an otherwise non-pukey Saturday afternoon combining beer and running.That reminds me, if you vomit during the beer mile you’re penalized a quarter mile.There are actually organized beer mile events around the country, and a website that tracks the madness. Mike and I decided to go rogue though, and do the event on our own. So he plotted a quarter-mile course near his house, and grabbed four Coors Light for each of us, and we began, with our wives there to cheer us on.(A side note on foolishness: It’s tremendously helpful if you have an understanding spouse. We’re lucky in that not only are our wives understanding and tolerant, but they frequently encourage our foolishness. Many times they’re participants with us. Not so for the beer mile though. They provided much-needed moral support.)Turns out that we broke the rules from the very beginning.Someone suggested that we shotgun the beer. This involves puncturing the bottom of the can with a sharp object so that when the top of the can is opened the beer flows quickly and freely. We did this with the first beer, and I immediately wished that I had chosen to sip! If you think running is hard, imagine doing it with lungs full of beer. That’s what I imagined as I tried to swallow the beer tsunami.We didn’t find out until later that altering the can in any way is against the rules. I like to make my own rules though, so I’m not disqualifying us from the race.After some difficulty I finished the beer and threw the empty, crushed can away and started running. Much to my surprise, I didn’t feel any liquid sloshing around in my stomach. One of the reasons I’ve never run farther than six miles at a time is because that’s about my limit before I need a drink, and the one time I tried to drink water while running I could hear and feel every ounce whirlpooling in my stomach.Not this time though. I ran the quarter mile without a problem, and as I turned the corner to return to Mike’s house, our wives cheered us on. I drank beer number two like a civilized, non-shotgunning adult, and went on my way.Still no stomach problems.My wife has a theory that people can endure anything for a period of time as long as they know how long it’s going to last. I doubted the theory at first, but I’ve used it over a number of years and it holds up.I thought about her theory as I finished the second lap. I’d made it halfway. After this next beer I’d only have one more to go, and I could run half a mile in my sleep. So I opened that beer and started drinking. This was the toughest beer of the race because I was breathing hard.I made it through though, finished the third lap without incident, and came back to cheers of my wife saying, “One more lap. You’ve got this. You’re almost done.” I drank the last beer, hustled off, tried to listen to my stomach and everything was calm.During the entire race I’d paid close attention to my surroundings so I could avoid getting sick in some poor neighbor’s yard. There’s an empty lot there. A sewer grate there. Forested area up ahead. Only a couple of hundred feet to Mike’s house.I needn’t worry though. I finished the race without ever feeling like I needed to lose any of the beer. I’d been shooting for a time under twelve minutes, but when my wife told me I’d finished in 12:20, I was still happy about it. Mike finished a few seconds later and we both proclaimed the race a success since we’d finished, didn’t feel horrible, and didn’t anger any of his neighbors.
Before the race I worried that I might be drunk by the end and stumble my way through the last lap. However, twelve minutes isn’t enough time for that first beer to enter the bloodstream. The effects are delayed for half an hour or so.Later I used mapmyrun.com to discover that Mike’s one mile course actually measured 1.16 miles, which means that I actually finished one mile in about 10:37 and met my goal. In running, as in beer, every little bit counts!We had so much fun with it that we’re planning to do it again this spring, but this time on a track so the distance is accurate, and we don’t have to worry about a vomit zone.Mike’s dad will join us, and we’re recruiting other friends to join the “fun.” And if they decide not to participate again, you can be sure that our wives will be there to cheer us on, encourage our foolishness, and hopefully not wonder what they ever saw in us!PREVIOUS POST: When to Eat Food That Fell on the FloorIF YOU LIKED THIS POST I BET YOU'LL ALSO LIKE: What I'm Thinking About When I'm Running+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Hey, did you like reading this? If so, you should Share it on Facebook so you can bring joy to others. You can also find tons of other posts by me here. And you can like my Facebook page, Brett Baker Writes. Please.
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