That’s how fast I ran yesterday’s 2006 Highland Fling 5k, give or take a second or two. My arch nemesis “mike” bested my time (and me) by an additional second or two. In the spirit of good sportsmanship, I’d like to take this time to wish a pox upon him and his posterity. Did I mention I placed first in my division of 25-29 year old males. I did. And they gave me a spiffy trophy. And several bottles of Powerade. Actually, I kinda just walked off with the Powerade, but anyway…
Bowing to popular demand, I once again wore my bicep-baring, florescent yellow singlet and those oh-too-short shorts that the ladies LOVE. Playing to the crowd’s utter anticipation, I waited until just moments before the race began before ripping off my break-away pants to expose those shorts (much to the delight of onlookers.) My sister winced. Someone suggested that next time I should do something to avoid the stark farmer’s tan on my legs. Duely noted.
After the race, my mom (who took the race photos) and I found shade on the side of 10400 N. and set up in preparation for the annual parade. The Highland Fling Parade is not nearly as provincial as you might expect. This year entrants included such crowd pleasers as the “Bank of American Fork Pig”, “Jared Robinson with his children on a horse” and “Congressman Jim Matheson”.
Can I interrupt myself for a moment? Parades are strange social constructions. You have a bunch of people, many dressed awkwardly, riding in fancy cars and decorated trailers. They wave, not exact to you but more at you, and sometimes they say things, but again, not really to you but at the parade watchers in general. And then they toss out salt water taffy (the cheapest bulk candy per pound) and then they sometimes squirt you with water guns. The crowd isn’t expected to do much except look and mutter the occasional comment like “that’s an ugly float”, “Miss Utah sure is hot this year”, and “Mom, why does Cosmo (BYU’s mascot) dance like a girl?”
Not me. I directly dialog with the paraders. “Hello Miss Utah”, I say. “that’s a nice dress you’ve got on, how much did it cost?” “Howya doing Lone Peak High School Cheerleaders! You in the back, call me in 5 years, ok?” “Wassup Paul Mitchell School people! Do you think my hair would look good with bleached tips?”
Last year this technique of loud, somewhat funny, yet mostly obnoxious commentary resulted in a healthy plunder of salt water taffy. This year the paraders must have gotten wise to my antics, because they seemed less impressed at my annoying discourse. Still, I managed to gather a respectable quantity of candy, plus two rolls of toilet paper (complements of the Costco float) when I announced, “Costco beats Sam’s Club ANY DAY!”
Another parade highlight included an attractive member of a dance studio who performed an flirty, impromptu shimmy in my direction when I exclaimed, “what a shiny shirt you’re wearing!” Indeed, the gold spangled shirt was shiny, the lady quite the dancer, and if you’re reading this Miss-Shiny-Shirt-Lady, email me, ok?
I got off track. Where was I? Oh, right, the parade. It was fun. We all had a good time, except for my sister. She threw up. But not because of the parade but because of the 5k, but we’re totally past that now, aren’t we?