Nugget #33

And now the rest of the Dribble Kabibbles

                                                                          

More Running Dribble Kabibbles

By Bill Donnelly

Running with the Dogs

            I have to admit, I was pretty pleased with my Boston Marathon this year.  My chip time of 3:34:51 was almost exactly one hour slower that my PR, run almost exactly 30 years before at the 1975 Boston Marathon.  As someone at work told me, I had aged two minutes per year.  I’ll take it, especially after the dismal times I ran at my last three Bostons.  I’m here to tell you, my secret was in the training, which is similar to Jeff Galloway’s method in that it involves a lot of walking.  Different from Galloway in that it involves very little running.

            My special training started when I began working for the company that provides Natural Gas for the area.  It shall remain nameless, but its name rhymes with Irrational Fool.  Anyway, I began reading meters for them last year in April, and I usually walk anywhere from ten to fifteen miles a day.  I do my regular running workouts, but my main training is the walking.  Now, walking by itself will not get you in top racing shape, you must also work on getting your heart rate up, and a lot of bursts of speed.  And that’s where the dogs come in.

            You see, I meet so many dogs all day long.  All kinds of dogs, big ones, small ones, friendly ones, mean ones, cute ones, and ugly ones (I once met one so ugly I thought it was a donkey, but I found out it was a monkey working for FEMA).  Most times I know they are there because the hand-held computers we carry to punch in the numbers on warn us if the next stop has a dog.  Problem is, it beeps at us when we are halfway across the lawn of the next stop, and the beeping is a very high pitch that humans can hardly hear, but which seems to do a good job of irritating the heck out of the dog sleeping under the bush.  The hand-held will usually say something like “mean dog – inside invisible fence so it’s ok” but meanwhile, I’m inside the invisible fence too, with an irritated “mean dog” coming at me. 

            This is the sudden burst of speed part of my training method.  Many of these each day.  Often the dog is inside a fence of the next house after the one where you are bending down at to read the meter, so you haven’t been warned of a dog yet.  Just as you are calmly punching in the reading, a seemingly rabid dog is leaping the height of the fence right next to you with blood-curdling growls that would scare the ugly off the director of FEMA.  This is the part where the heart rate gets going.  I’m here to tell you my training method works.  Of course all the weight I lost walking helped me too.

            The big downsize to my training method would be dog bites.  If you do not like dog bites, this method would not be for you.  I have been through two episodes of bites.  The first was more annoying than anything.  Away back last year, a little old lady couldn’t catch her two little yappers, so she said to come on in, they would be fine.  By the time I got to the basement door, I was wearing one on my calf like some strange piercing, and I’m shaking my leg and the thing is still yapping while hanging on for dear life.  Not much of a bite, but I don’t even like needles, and I had to go get a tetanus shot, since I had carefully avoided getting one for, oh, 25 years.  Did I mention I don’t like needles?

            My next K-9 biting episode happened about a month ago.  On a steamy hot morning, I entered a yard to head for the back door of the house.  My hand-held did not warn me of a dog, nor did the wooden fence say anything about a dog, and the hand-held indicated I should go to the back door to gain access to the house.  Just as I reached the back door, a huge set of teeth attached to a blood-curdling growl latched onto my arm before I could react.  I started swinging my hand-held at the teeth (I really have no Idea what kind of dog it was, all I saw was snarling teeth) and used a chair to keep the teeth at bay until I could get out of the yard.  It wasn’t till I got out that I realized the teeth had gotten me pretty good, and blood was gushing out of my arm.

            I wrapped it and headed for the medical center.  Being a dog bite, they were reluctant to put stitches in, but the wound was deep enough they put in a few loose stitches.  NOT NEEDLES!  Yeah, they numbed it first, but that took a bigger needle than the one they put the stitches in with.  So there you have the downsize of my training method.  It’s a method that works better than Galloway’s, just skip the dog bites.  Oh yeah, try to stay away from monkeys and donkeys also.

Pet Peeves

            Speaking of Jeff Galloway, just a short Dribble Kabbible to tell of one of my pet peeves.  Not the Peeve I had as a kid.  That Peeve was a type of monkey (actually called Peeves because they peed a lot) that had a bad disposition, was constipated, and looked like a donkey, but I managed to sell it to some unsuspecting sucker.  No, this pet peeve concerns Jeff Galloway and part of his running advice.

            Galloway used to coach pretty good runners.  My brother Tom, better known as “Bill Donnelly’s slow little brother”, was training directly under Galloway back in 1989.  He had Tom and a couple other runners actually training quite hard.  They built up to doing 13 one mile repeats at about a 5:30 pace, and their long runs got to be up to 30 miles, while going through 26 at a 2:56 pace.  If Tom was ever set to break 2:30 for a marathon, this was his time.

            I came to Buffalo to watch him attempt it at the Buffalo Marathon help the first weekend in May of that year.  Unfortunately for Tom and the others, Buffalo woke up to about six inches of wet, sloppy snow.  Starting off in that, the runners kicked up that snow onto their legs, and very few were happy with their times.  Tom’s legs tightened up so much he dropped out shortly after the halfway mark. 

            Since then, Galloway has dumbed-down his training method.  Now he aims at the greater masses of runners by preaching a method of running where you run ten minutes and then walk one minute.  You do this all the way, for long training runs and long races.  In marathons he suggests you do your walking at the water stops, and this is where I get annoyed with his method.

            I do not care if people use his method or not.  It works for some, and not for others.  What Galloway apparently didn’t think to tell the runners is to use common sense and common courtesy when stopping for water.  In any of the big marathons like Boston, Chicago, New York, or whatever, it’s a madhouse at the water stops anyway.  To have many of the people stopping right in front of you as you are reaching for water is so annoying and dangerous.  I grab water and then get behind those giving it out so I can stop to quickly drink it without choking on it.  You have to keep moving or get out of the way, and so many Peeves do not seem to understand this.  There, it’s off my chest, and now I feel better, until it happens to me again.  Then I will politely say to whoever stops in front of me “You are such a Donkey!”  But I won’t mean it as a term of endearment like some would.  

                      

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 75^th 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.

Nugget # 31

And now for Running Dribble-Kabibbles

Running Dribble Kabibbles

By Bill Donnelly

            Just recently I was at the awards ceremony for the Ronald McDonald House 5K.  No, I hadn’t run, but I thought they might give me some sort of award or recognition for all the “Super-Size Me” I have taken part in over the years.  No such luck, but still, there were many friends for me to cheer as they received their awards for a race well run, so I stayed.  Did I mention there was free beer and food there?  Not that that mattered to me. 

            Anyway, a couple times my good friend Kieran O’Loughlin was involved in embarrassing situations through no fault of his own, and more than a couple times, after each episode, different people came up to me immediately and told me I should include the incidents in my next article because they were so funny.  Kieran, isn’t it nice to know your running buddies from Checkers think so highly of you, they are so quick to sacrifice your good name on the Altar of Bad Taste, with me being the High Priest of said Altar?  Do they really think I would sink so low as to endanger our friendship just to get a laugh?  Think again old pal.

            Actually, at first I thought “No Way!”, since it has nothing to do with “Back in The Day!”  But the more I thought of it, and thought of a couple other incidents I always wanted to write about, but were too short for a whole article and were not about the way-back, I decided to do a bunch of short observations, or running stories if you will.

            Now, what to call these “short” musings?  I couldn’t call them “Running Shorts”, because Beebe Bailey already has that one locked up for The Buffalo News articles.  “Running Socks” stinks, “Running Spanks” just doesn’t cover it enough, and “Running Deer” was the name of a Native American girl I once dated.  Then it hit me, “Running Dribble Kabibbles”, just because it sounds good.  Remember, if you do not know what a Dribble Kabibble is, check out the July, 2004 issue of Checkers Chatter.

            And so without any further ado, here are my “Running Dribble Kabibbles”:

A Boy Named Sue (or Kieran)

          Back to the Ronald McSupersizeme awards.  There was a crowd of us yapping away while the presenter of cheesy awards, and a very effeminate looking Ronald McDonald, tried to announce the winners over a sound system taken directly from a drive-up window of McDonalds.  Not being able to hear well (I thought I heard him ask if I wanted fries with that) we were all excited to hear Kieran O’Loughlin’s name being called.  He’s excited, his time of 19 Minutes and change usually not good enough to win something in his tough age group, but here he was getting an award.

            Hold on there Mr. Kieran.  That award was for third place overall for women.  The scorers had just probably never seen the good old Irish name of Kieran, so they assumed it was a woman’s name.  So already a couple people are telling me I should write this up.  But wait, there’s more!

            That’s right, ten minutes later as they are going through the age groups, whose name comes up again.  You guessed it, they clearly said “Do you want fries with that Kieran O’Loughlin” and up he went once more.  And once again, you guessed it, they were calling for first place, 45-49, Women.  I just don’t get it, didn’t the scorer notice the first time Kieran went up, or is it that the scorer’s wife also has a beard and just wouldn’t look good in spanks.  That’s a low blow Kieran; you would look just fine in spanks. 

            By now Kieran is walking back very embarrassed and dejected, and at least three people are tugging at my sleeve telling me I have to write about this now!  So now I have.  We finally checked the results and found Kieran did come in fourth in his age, but no cigar.  And that’s that.

            Oh, wait, I just have to add my Two cents worth, you see, this wouldn’t have happened Back in The Day.  Here I go again, but back then we runners knew to have Manly names that everyone understood to be Manly.  Names like Bill, Tom, Jack, or Dick.  OK, so there was Kim Wettlaufer, who was one of the top runners back then, but his last name was very Manly sounding, and in fact his last name was German for “Wet Manly Thing!”  Even our nick-names were Manly.  Names like Richard “The Founder” Sullivan.  Or Tom “Bill Donnelly’s slow little brother” Donnelly.  There was even a pretty good runner back then, who you still might see running around Delaware Park, named Tony Anthony.  I mean, Tony’s a Manly name, but what a cruel sense of humor his parents had.  His name was Anthony Anthony.  Wonder what his middle name was?  BoBanthony?

            I mean, there is nothing wrong with the name Kieran, although when in America, do as we do, and learn English for cripes sake.  Oh wait, that’s part of my diatribe for my article for the White People who Show their Intelligence by Shaving their Heads and Carving Swastikas into their Arms with Safety Pins Party Paper.  But come on.  Do you know what Kieran means in Gaelic?  Well, let me tell you, it is actually the Celtic word used in the movie “Million Dollar Baby”.   You know, the nick-name Clint Eastwood gives Hillary Swank to use when she fights.  A Manly thing to do, fisticuffs and all, but he finally tells her that it means “Little Darling” right before he pulls the plug on her.  Nice of him, huh?  Gee, I hope this doesn’t ruin the movie for those of you who haven’t seen it yet.

            Anyway, that said, it wasn’t a good night for the O’Loughlins at all, as far as the awards went.  Kieran’s lovely wife Joann won her age group, but somehow the people in charge missed her finishing completely.  I know she finished well, because I saw her come in as I was waiting for my Super-Sized-Me-Meal to arrive.  Boy, did they screw up.  Never got my meal either!

            But speaking of Joann, now there is a Manly-FeManly name, and is she running great.  Think of all the Manly Joes out there.  Joe Jordan, Joe DiMaggio, Joe Camel, Joe Momma, and Mighty Joe Young.  I guess it just goes to prove my point, we knew how to do things right Back in The Day.

My Bad

          A very brief “Running Dribble Kabibble”.  In the last issue, when comparing the 1977 Fredonia 10K to the 2005 Lancaster 10K, I said Ralph (a Manly name) Zimmerman came in fifth with a time of 32:32.  My bad, his time was actually 31:32.  This was almost exactly eight months before Ralph would run a 2:18:55 in the Boston Marathon of 1978, a Manly time.  And that was not a PR for Ralph.

            In fact, I ran that same Boston in 2:36 even, and that was not a PR for me.  I only bring this up because in the previous “Kabibble”, I did not mention my nick-name from Back in The Day.  I kind of hate to say it, but my many female admirers referred to me as Bill “Kieran” Donnelly, and they did so for obvious reasons, since you now know what “Kieran” means in Celtic.  But I always had the announcers use Bill when presenting me with the many awards I should have won.  Maybe Kieran should change his name to a really Manly name, like Bill, or William, or Liam.  Just thought I’d throw that in.

Captain Freddy “Long John” Lew

And The Quivering Lip

            Now here’s a story about our dear friend Fred Lew and the 2004 Boston Marathon.  The title of this “Running Dribble Kabibble” may throw you, but let me clear that up right away.  I’m not implying that Fred is some sort of Buccaneer captain, and his Pirate ship is the Quivering Lip.  Actually, Fred’s nick-name “Long John” (and a Manly nick-name it is) comes from the fact that when Fred was a young lad, each November, his loving mother would sew him into a pair of long-johns that he would have to wear until April.  Remember, we did have colder winters back then, and by April, he emitted a very Manly smell, and without having to eat burritos.

            I didn’t run this particular Boston, but I was there to cheer on many friends, one of them being Jennifer Hulme.  It was her first Boston, and she was understandably very nervous.  My good friend Dr. Dave Walborn was able to calm her down the night before the race, and to this day I do not know what prescribed medication he used.  The next morning, I saw all my friends off to Hopkinton, went for a run myself, and then settled into my hotel room at the Howard Johnson (Manly) Fenway (Manly) with a few beers (Manly) to watch the run on TV (Manly), until I would go to the one-mile-to-go mark and cheer everybody in (Manly).

            The rest of this story I got second hand, since I wasn’t in Hopkinton.  Seems everyone was doing OK, despite the fact that the temperature was approaching 87 degrees, a bit too hot for most marathoner’s liking.  Finally it was time to head to the start, and Jennifer joined Fred and many others on their trek.  As they went along, runners were dropping off their bags at the designated busses, which of course, went by their number.  With 17,000 runners, this is a very complicated procedure. 

            Fred handed his bag to the appropriate bus, as did others, and race time was drawing nigh.  Jennifer’s number was something like 10,001, and they came to the last bus, whose last number they would take was 9,999!  Turns out, Jennifer should have turned left a half mile back, and found her bus a half mile up the street.  “Ladies and Gentlemen, the race will start in 15 minutes!”

            Yow!  Jennifer quickly realized her predicament, and being her first Boston, she felt lost.  She did a very FeManly thing, her eyes welled up with just a touch of tears, and her lower lip began to quiver.  See, it’s not a Pirate ship.  Turns out, when Fred was a lad of eight, he got a new puppy.  It was March, and when the puppy smelled Fred in his long johns, it’s eyes welled up with just a touch of tears, and it’s lips began to quiver.  Fred never forgot the feeling of helplessness he felt then (he could have cut off the dang long johns), and when he woke up the next morning, little “Kieran” had run away, never to be seen again.

            Ever since, Fred was a soft touch for the “Quivering Lips”.  He quickly took control, and gently said “Follow me Kieran (for he knew what the word meant in Celtic, and knew it’s soothing qualities), and we shall be fine.”  Freddy “Long John” Lew did the Manly thing that day, and got Jennifer’s bag stowed, and made sure she made it to the starting line just before the gun went off.  I’d like to say everything turned out great for everyone involved, but remember, this turned into one of the hottest Bostons ever.  At least 87 degrees with a wicked hot wind that could cook pizzas; not many had a great day. 

            I watched as good friends of mine struggled past, and just to finish on this day was an amazing accomplishment.  Some, like Richard “The Founder” (Manly) Sullivan and Diane “Mangoes” (FeManly) McGuire did well to finish in decent times.  I never saw Fred or Jennifer go by, but Boston is so packed with runners, I missed many, plus those one or two or three beers back in the hotel didn’t help.  But I heard what happened.

            Jennifer had a great time, considering the conditions, just a few minutes off her PR.  Fred did OK, and finished, but no where near what he wanted.  It seems that when Jennifer passed him, she thanked him profusely, but then said: “Please don’t ever call me Kieran again.  I Know Celtic and it is not FeManly enough for me.  But thanks again for your help, and I’ll see you at the finish.” 

            Now I swear this is how I heard it from those involved.  If you don’t believe me, just ask one of those involved.  But that would not be the Manly thing to do.  Seeing you with my next “Running Dribble Kabibble” articles, this is Mike, err, Bud, err, I mean Bill “Kieran” Donnelly signing off.