Open Letter to the Bus Driver Who Did Not Widow My Wife

Dear Bus Driver Who Did Not Widow My Wife,

Thank you from the bottom of my dumb-ass heart.  I am a F*$&ing idiot.  No excuses.  Had you, dear bus driver, splattered me all along Hillsborough Street this morning, it would have been entirely my fault.  Granted, I was in a designated cross walk, but that was about the only aspect of my Super Dave Osborne-esque temptation of fate that I got right.  Normally, I am much more cautious and would never attempt to cross at an intersection that is clearly obstructed by trees, I would not have attempted to cross against the light, and I would have been wearing a effing blinky light!  What got into me this morning you ask?  A serious case of momentary lapse of reason is all I can figure.  You see, I have a Half Marathon to run, which I understand that I can't run if I am busted all to hell and back because I lost a game chicken with a bus, but you see . . . my Achilles has been sore since Saturday and that is all I was thinking about.  Well . . . not all . . . he is where I really feel like my frikin  nincompoopery maxes out.  And this my kindly bus driver is true! Not 15 minutes before I tested out my sprinting skill and your brakes, I ran past a guy dressed like the Frikin Grim Reaper!  I know that you want to call bull-shit on this, but it is true.  I would not shit a person, whose quick reflexes just saved me from accidentally pruning my own limb from my family tree. 

It was before dawn and misting out.  I was running past Smoker Friendly/Cigar Express gas station (google it if you think I am making it up) and out of the fog comes a guy dressed in head to toe black, wearing long flowing trench with a black hoodie underneath.  His hood was up and his hands are gloved.  When I first saw him walking towards me I thought "You've got to be kidding me.  The Grim Reaper."  But as he got closer I could feel my pace quicken and my heart beat faster.  I couldn't make out his face as I passed, but really . . . . looking him in the eye was the last thing on my mind.  I went past him and shortly got to my turn around point about a half a block down the street.  When I turned around and headed back the way I had come, to my relief, Reaper dude was gone.  Now, I at the time I didn't think that he step off into the ethereal plane or some shit like that.  I thought that he just turned down a side street of crossed over to the other side of the road.  But now, as I write this letter to my kindly Bus Driver, I am forced to wonder just a bit, if the reaper was doing a bit of scouting.  Because, a mile a half later, even though I was looking both was as I began to cross the street, I did not see your ginormous "vehicle of mass transportation/express to the afterlife". Once again, this was entirely my bad and if it make you feel a bit better, I think I peed a little as I stared into your headlights.

Sincerely,

Greg from Locker 29

Open Letter To the Staggering Drunk Who Wanted to Run with Me This Morning

Dear Staggering Drunk,

I am sorry that I appeared to ignore you this morning.  It was very early, and I wasn't expecting anyone to start up a conversation with me at 5am while I was in the midst of my run.  I failed to realize that you were addressing me until you came staggering out into the street, and repeatedly greeted me by  shouting what I think was "Hey, Brother Man!"   Sorry that you had to repeat yourself over and over and get louder, you must have failed to notice that I was listening to my I-pod.  I hope that didn't spill your drink (or cup of urine?) as you tried to catch up to me.  Unfortunately, your unexpected appearance and the lurching nature of your unorthodox running style initially made think that the zombie apocalypse was upon us.  Please forgive me, I have been watching way too much of AMC's The Walking Dead and Zack Snyder's Classic remake of Dawn of the Dead and must cut back.  However, once I realized that you were capable of some form of speech and were not a "walker", I was suddenly reminded that I needed to get in some speed work.  Since I am not that fluent in 'bum speak' I can only guess that as you staggered into the street and began to follow me that you were offering your services as a training partner, which I sadly had to decline.  While I am certain that you are free of a performance enhance drugs, I am uncertain about about your regimen of performance inhibitors.  Also, I know that as a heal striker, I should not point out the flaws in the way other people run, but I doubt that I could adapt to your weaving-stagger style of running.  I just don't think that I am the right fit for you as a running partner.  You need someone, who will appreciate your many personality quirks, like randomly falling down in the street or bursting into song mid run.  And while I admire your dedication to the run, personally, I will stop if I feel the need to urinate or vomit and know that you will not let these bodily functions hold you back from anything.  I am afraid that I am just not that hardcore and hope that you are able to find a suitable training partner.

Sincerely,

Greg from Locker29