I’ve been a marathon runner and triathlete for almost ten years. I’m not one of those crazy runners who lets it consume them, or one of those granola-runners who does it for the sense of inner peace and harmony with the world. I run for Doritos. More accurately, I run because of the Doritos, specifically the entire bag I ate last night.
But one of the things that makes running more interesting for me is the chance to travel to some great places for an upcoming event. I’ve run marathons in nine different states, ten if you count the marathon I recently had to drop out of because I had thrown up too many times according to the rule book. Apparently they measure the vomit output per ounce, not per liter.
My travels have taken me far. I’ve marathoned my way through a beautiful but hilly course in San Francisco, I’ve raced 26 miles through all four Disney theme parks in Orlando, I’ve punished myself good in a triathlon at the National Championships (well, that one was here in Alabama, but it was in the Warrior River which is an exotic locale all by itself). It’s a neat way to see the world.
Any large scale race in a major city will invariably mean thousands, even tens of thousands, of participants, and a lot of races use outside websites who specialize in race registration to handle the flood of paperwork and money. One website my husband and I typically have to go through to register for any of our events is Active.com. But I learned the hard way that when you Google the word “active” you really shouldn’t click on the first website you come to. That’s how I accidentally became a member of HealthyandActive.com, which still doesn’t sound like a bad group of people to know.
It’s a geriatric sex toy site.
If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’. And you know you just opened a new window to check it out for yourself so don’t you judge me.
Smiling, gray-haired couples in matching Keds sneakers and Sansabelt pants with coordinating cardigan sweaters walking along a beach, usually carrying a basket of some kind, are splashed all over a website that carries the Hitachi Magic Wand and faux leopard fur handcuffs.
Now I have said it before, I am a live-and-let-live person. What goes on in your bedroom with the blinds drawn and doesn’t involve children or animals (at least the types of animals that aren’t into that kind of thing) is completely your business.
But is this really safe? A man who already takes blood pressure pills, had a stint put in last year because one of his arteries is 80% blocked, then had to throw back a couple of Viagra to even fully enjoy the special outfit you bought (the one with Velcro instead of zippers for when your arthritis is flaring up), THIS is the guy who should be overly excited by something mechanical and rotating with more RPMs than your blender? Do you really want to find yourself handcuffed to the frame of your Craftmatic Adjustable Bed, knowing that this guy has collapsed twice before from the physical strain of waiting in line for popcorn at the movies?
Unless you plan to wear that LifeAlert necklace during canoodling, you had better have some backup plans. Forget a safe word, you might want to go ahead and duct tape the phone to your hand. The one that isn’t holding the whip, that is.