On Saturday morning I will run a very big race in Jacksonville — the River Run. It’s a 9.3-mile jaunt that attracts thousands of runners. I’ve been doing it for years, but last year I missed it for a conference. This year I wasn’t about to let the same thing happen — even though the race and the conference fall on the same weekend. So — since I lack any realistic grasp of time — I’ll run the race then fly out for the conference. Only four hours separate the two.
It will take surgical precision and military-like agility to pull this off. I’m not entirely confident I can do it, but if I do, this is how it will go down:
5 a.m. – I am referring to this as zero hour because the likelihood that I will actually wake up at 5 a.m. is zero. When the alarm clock goes off, I’ll curse it before hitting the snooze button. Zero hour will be delayed.
5:15 a.m. – The new zero hour.
6 a.m. – For some reason I will think this is a realistic time to be dressed, packed, loaded and ushering my family toward the car.
6:30 a.m. – I will realize I’m dumber than a pair of tube socks and still don’t have them out the door.
7:30 a.m. – I will arrive at the race site where it’s colder than an Eskimo’s armpit. Instead of stretching or warming up, I will opt for a very robust yawn.
8:30 a.m. – A cannon will signal the start of the race. As usual, I will wet myself a little bit.
8:35 a.m. – I will have settled into my race pace and begin to feel confident … until it occurs to me I didn’t pack a single pair of underwear for the trip. Panic will set in.
9:30 a.m. – This is when I would like to finish. Unfortunately, I’m not that good.
9:35 a.m. – Hopefully I will have finished, provided I didn’t stop for any bloody marys along the way.
9:45 a.m. – Thanks to some quick thinking paramedics, smelling salts and a woman who screamed, “Oh my God, that walking toothpick just collapsed,” I will regain consciousness. The first words of my mouth will be: “Did you say gate 5B?”
9:50 a.m. – I will be faced with the toughest decision of the day: re-hydrate my battered body with water and electrolyte-rich sports drinks, as well as much-needed bananas and bagels OR head straight for the beer tent.
9:51 a.m. – I will arrive at the beer tent. There will be no crowd since all the other suckers are at the water table. I will ask the woman pouring beer if they have to-go cups. She will not find this amusing and will secretly slip me a non-alcoholic beverage. I will only realize this later in the day when I can’t figure out why my head isn’t throbbing uncontrollably.
10:15 a.m. – I will head for the car.
10:16 a.m. – I will realize I have no idea where the car is.
10:32 a.m. – I will find my car, only to realize I never found my family. While I’m starting to run behind schedule and getting nervous, I will remember my secret weapon — a time warp machine.
10:33 a.m. – I will realize nobody charged the time warp machine. Luckily my family will walk up and I will go back to my original plan: Drive like a man on fire.
10:50 a.m. – I will reach my sister-in-law’s house. She is out of town, but graciously offered to let me come over and take a quick shower before I shoot off to the airport.
10:32 a.m. – She was gracious … but also forgetful, as the spare key will not be where she said it would. So I will opt for Plan B: give myself a wet wipe sponge bath in the car and hope my stench doesn’t set off the bomb-sniffing equipment in the airport security line.
10:40 a.m. – I will speed out of her driveway after noticing many of her neighbors watching a partially nude man rinsing himself down with a garden hose while screaming, “Ahhhhh, it’s cold! It’s cold!”
11:40 – I will arrive at the airport and begin checking bags before heading for security.
12:30 p.m. – I will make it, arrive at the gate and load onto the plane. A stewardess will help strap me into my seat. I will breathe a triumphant sigh of relief. This would feel good, if the rest of my body didn’t feel like it had been hit with a wrecking ball. I will pat myself on the back and marvel at how I pulled it off. Then the captain will come on the intercom and tell me the landing gear is broken. That we will be delayed for at least four hours. And I will wish that I had charged up that time warp machine.