Monday, May 9, 2011

Nugget # 32

Here we go again with those Running Dribble Kabibbles.

More Running Dribble Kabibbles
By Bill Donnelly

            Wow, I can hardly believe how many people told me they loved my last article entitled “Running Dribble Kabibbles”.  I hate to brag, but I would put the number of people gushing about it at somewhere less than 10,000 people, yet definitely more than two people.  Therefore I decided to do a sequel to that article, and write more Running Dribble Kabibbles.  Now comes the one slight problem; many readers, and I would have to guess this number at somewhere less than 10,000 people, yet definitely more than two people, do not know what a Dribble Kabibble is, even though I told you all to check out the July, 2004 issue of the Checkers Chatter.  My article in that issue, called “Straight Eye for the Running Guy” clearly defines the term.
            Well, it seems that the issues of the newsletter that you can read online at the Checkers website do not go back to last year.  This creates quite a problem for many of the readers since we have so many new members that do not have an extensive collection of past issues as do all the older members.  You old-timers save each issue, don’t you?  Anyway, with so many people joining Checkers each month, and I put that number at somewhere less than 10,000 people, yet definitely more than two people, I decided to reprint that passage which describes the Dribble Kabibble.  So without any further ado, oh wait, a brief explanation.  The article describes what I wore in my first-ever road race, which was the 1973 New York City Marathon, and the Dribble Kabibble is just one item I wore.  So now, without any further ado,

            Now, I want to keep this article serious, as always, while not offending any delicate souls out there.  Therefore, I will use code words for the piece of sports equipment I’m talking about.  So for this article only, if I write the word dribble, I mean jock, and if I write kabibble, I mean strap.  Is that clear?  So anyway, the first thing I put on was my dribble kabibble.  Oh yeah, if I write wibble, I mean cup, and if I write jibble, it means size.  So anyway – wait- if I write zibble, it means big.  So I put on my dribble kabibble whose wibble jibble was of course quite zibble. 
I’m here to tell you that a dribble kabibble, while perhaps fine for most sports, was never meant for long distance running.  The material it is made of is some sort of indestructible elastic stuff that, and I have this on good authority, was originally created as a covering for the heat shield for the Project Mercury Space Capsules, sort of an extra protection for our astronauts.  Unfortunately, the material proved too abrasive and was destroying the heat shields, so the makers of this evil stuff had too find a new use for it.  You guessed it, dribble kabibbles.  And, just for good measure, they added ribs, which I’ll code name nibbles, to the wibble. 
            So now I’m wearing a dribble kabibble whose nibbles on the wibble will rub my inner thighs raw, especially because my wibble jibble is so zibble, there are more nibbles on my dribble kabibble than there are nibbles on the wibble of the average guy’s dribble kabibble.  Needless to say, but I’ll say it anyway, this marathon was the last time I wore a dribble kabibble, since my thighs were rubbed raw practically down to my knees, thanks to my zibble wibble jibble.  There, I hope I was able to handle this delicate topic without offending anyone, yet still being able to keep to the serious nature of the article, as I always try to do.
            So now you know, all somewhere less than 10,000 people, yet definitely more than two people who are new members, what I’m talking about.  And so now, without any further ado, this month’s Running Dribble Kabibbles.

Terms of Endearment

            Often we runners know each other fairly well, but do we really get to know each other?  Yes, we get to know which runners are always positive, which are extremely competitive, and which to avoid while running because they continuously pass gas at the drop of a shoe (or the beeping of their stop watch).  Maybe that is why Patty Webb is always running alone during track.  I mean she is just so darn positive.  You don’t think I meant she was, you know, too competitive?
            Anyway, do we really get to know each other?  I came to this realization at a recent party when I got to really get to know a lot about another runner, something that I never would have guessed about her.  The runner to be roasted here, err, I mean described, is Anne Reif.  Anne is the always positive, competitive, and flatulating woman who works for the YMCA.  Anne is the Go To Girl of the Turkey Trot who put the Y in the Village People.  Anne is the one who takes troubled behavior problem kids from Buffalo on trips to Greece in order to try to leave them there. 
            What I didn’t know about Anne, and I’m sure most of you did not know, is that underneath her outgoing and apparent self-assuredness is a little girl who craves attention of any sort, which makes her feel so alive and worthwhile.  And I mean any kind of attention; she especially likes it when people point out her flaws so that she can work on improving herself.  She even loves insults of any kind, for in her mind, what says “I care” more than a good zinger.  Weird?  Yes, but this is Anne Reif’s way.
            Anne even has developed a term of endearment she uses for people that she feels have complimented her in such ways.  If you should be so lucky as to touch Anne with a really good putdown, or point out one of many flaws, she thanks you in her own special way.  She will look you straight in the eye and lovingly say “You are such a Donkey!”  Well, she doesn’t use the word “donkey”, it is the word that stands for a donkey, starts with the letter a, and rhymes with class.  But she means donkey.
            How does this phrase come to be a term of endearment?  Good question.  It seems that when Anne was but a tot of three, she had a pet monkey that meant the world to her.  An exotic pet, but her folks could only afford it because it was on special.  It had a lot wrong with it, including a bad disposition, constipation that resulted in much flatulence (this didn’t bother little Anne, although the monkey was bothered by her similar problem), constant drooling, and a face that looked more like a donkey’s face, or was it that word that rhymes with class.  Anyway, the little creature was Anne’s pride and joy, and when people pointed out the monkey’s flaws to tiny Anne, in her child’s pea-brain, she felt they must love it too.  Thus, her love of being insulted to this day, and also why she will say “You are such a Donkey!” to show her pleasure.
            The best example of this strange behavior was recently reported to me by my brother Tom, better known to you all as “Bill Donnelly’s slow little brother”.  Tom Donnelly’s new little wife, Mrs. Tom Donnelly, or better known to you all as “Did you know Julie Doell married Bill Donnelly’s slow little brother”, sadly lost her father last year.  Julie and her Step-mom, and many of her father’s best friends, had a very moving ceremony for John, Julie’s father, in August.  You may know the date, because it was the same day as the Checkers’ picnic, thus explaining why Tom, Julie, and I were not at the picnic, and why the picnic was so dull.  The constant rain did not help either.
            Anyway, we were in Rochester, NY for the Memorial Service, and Anne Reif joined us, as she and the Donnelly’s have become fast friends since Tom became race director of the Turkey Trot.  As I have said, it was a very moving ceremony at the golf course where Julie’s dad and step-mom were married, and as a bag-piper played, John’s ashes were spread over the area he was married.  Of course it was raining constantly, yet tears were running down the faces of the many people who loved John, and of those of us who didn’t even know him.  We knew Julie, and that was enough.
            Anne too had tears as she huddled under an umbrella to stay dry from the crying heavens, and with good reason.  You see, she wore a very nice white outfit for the occasion, but one that was practically see-through as it was.  She dared not get wet or it was wet-tee shirt (and pants) day at the old golf course.  The ceremony ended, and the golfing friends of John prepared to tee-off for a memorial round of golf, John’s favorite sport.  I left, because I had to attend a surprise 75th birthday party for Jesse Kregal, the other Grand Old Man of Running here in Buffalo, and founder of the Buffalo Philharmonic A.C.  The rest of the story was told to me by Tom.
            You see, since Tom, Julie and Anne did not play golf, they took it upon themselves to ride around together on a golf cart providing barley-malt beverage sustenance for the golfers braving the rain.  The three of them were mighty popular with the golfers, and all was going well with Tom driving, Julie huddled tightly next to him, and Anne riding shotgun.  Going well until the narrow path Tom had to traverse.
            You see, the path ran through a whole mess of dripping wet bushes, and I’m not talking about the President’s daughters’ gone wild while on Spring Break.  No, these were super-soakers, and Tom was heading right for the path only wide enough to get a bike through without getting wet.  Well, Tom WAS driving, and of course, his instinct for self survival was to veer right.  Thirty yards worth of veering right!
            Now, who was it I said was riding shot-gun?  Oh yeah, that would be Anne Reif, wearing her almost see-through white outfit.  Well, looking like one who had just gone through a car wash, you would think Anne would have been upset.  But NOOOOO!  You see Anne had been feeling left out a bit, and no one was paying her much attention.  Now she knew people would be paying her attention!  (Tom did tell me her purple thong and purple with pink hearts-bra stood out quite well).  I believe Anne knew Tom had done her a favor, and that is why she turned to him and said: “You are such a Donkey!”  And she meant it!
            Tom immediately hit another narrow path, and veering hard-right, now knowing Anne appreciated it, really let her have it.  Once again, “You are such a Donkey!”  Julie didn’t quite get it, but she was just happy Anne kept her dry.  Another “You are such a Donkey!!!!” followed, and Tom knew he had made Anne’s day.
            And right he was.  At the party after the golfing, Tom, and Julie could hardly buy a drink, because the happy golfers were so thankful for them providing the suds while they played kept them in whatever they wanted.  Anne, on the other hand, was the center of attention she wanted to be, and truly enjoyed it every time one of the golfers would playfully throw her out into the rain if she happened to be drying off.  It was a good day for everyone, and all the way back to Buffalo, she kept letting Tom know how thankful she was for his golf cart driving skills.     
            Thus it is that Anne shows her pleasure, and it all goes back to her pet monkey of sooo many years ago.  The monkey is gone now.  It was hired by Dubya to head FEMA, and it is now relaxing in the Bahamas.  But next time you see Anne Reif, make her feel good and loved.  Point out one of her major flaws, or better yet, just insult the heck out of her.  If you do, you will probably be rewarded with a “You are such a Donkey!”  Try it; it will make you feel better.  But remember, you won’t hear her say donkey, but rather the word that rhymes with class.

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