Rock n Roll Marathon

Congratulations to all the Marcfit and Tri Club members who ran the Rock n Roll Marathon. You battled heat, crowds, aid stations without Vaseline, and off-key cover bands. It was harrowing on Bryan's and my side of the race course, too: ornery cops, buggy sidelines, and not much of a breeze when you're standing still. Thanks for making our morning so much fun!

And for Marc: I gave you French fries, now I give you "The Pole Dancer":

I'll save you the breath right now and just say, No, my father wasn't a firefighter. And no, I didn't twirl the baton as a child. I don't have a particular penchant for yard work that involves rakes or shovels or any tool with a long, thin handle. (I don't have a penchant for any yard work, in fact.) No, I began pole-dancing because it was better than circulating through the crowd, giving lap dances. True, the tips are less. But I perform on my small platform well enough to make any difference in pay between me and Desiree, or me and Tanya, or me and Miranda, small potatoes.

I would like to think that I could support myself with smiles at strangers, cards to servicemen, animal shelter adoption, Goodwill donations, or loving one imperfect man well. But this isn't a culture where books are commerce, like spices in ancient Asia (I paid attention in high school). We citizens demand more of each other. Of me, you want my taxes paid in full, a pole dance, and a dependable punch line.