#runfordick...

Many of you are well-aware, one of my life goals is to master the double entendre. I may get my Millennium Falcon-shaped hot tub first, but with these long-term goals, I don't get as hung up on the order in which they are achieved... But yes, the double entendre. What is the point of language in life if not to catch a giggle at the innuendo, be it slightly ambiguous or outrightly offensive. It doesn't have to be all James Bond "Goldfinger" or even sexual, for that matter. Remember when Bobby, sang, "Everybody must get stoned..."

A moment for our patron saint of music and poetry. Let us groove in the First Church of Dylan:



But let's be honest, the double entendres that are even remotely sexual are usually the best.

Yes, I'm the one giggling at the grocery store when the clerk asks, "Would you like a sack for that?"

It's so juvenile, I know, I know. Painfully juvenile. But it's so much better than walking through life with the stick up the ass, growing old and waiting to die acceptance that too many people have.

When I started posting my Portland training runs as #runfordick, I certainly raised a few eyebrows. Has she completely lost it and going full-on Schumer, like this is some sort of catch a dick experiment? Is there a runner named Dick in her sights? Is this some charity thing she attached to or some feminist movement? Is the running to get in better shape for previously mentioned Schumer context?

The Schumer context was probably believable when you take into consideration the fact that this exists.



In the real world, though, they go to Tinder, weigh more, and have guns and dead things in their pics. The Solo cups are a really fantastic touch, though. And why isn't anyone smoking?

But back to Dick. Yes, Dick is a human. He's a brash, loud-mouthed, trash talking friend of mine who is equal parts asshole and Care Bear. And please, don't take the asshole lightly, he's a major league asshole and would take that as a compliment. He has more opinions than the Supreme Court. (Like right now, if he's reading this, he's already forming what shithead comment he's gonna make about Bob, just because he knows how much I adore Bob.) Dick is a social media friend--we've only actually hung out one time in like four years. We know all the same people and since we both love a good game of poke the bear, we are kindred spirits. Of course, we like to troll each other, so it's almost like having an extra brother where neither of you left middle school and you pick on each other constantly, but it's bloodsport at this point.

Dick's favorite line of picking on me is mocking my posts about running, about how many miles it was, or how I am so slow I look like I am walking and people should be running from me. Then I'd have to fire back something about his love of spandex wrestling men or tell him to go cry about the death of country music. Meh. It was actually popcorn worthy when we were both on a tear. And there was that poetic thread about diarrhea.

#runfordick was pure reaction to him. It was, "Make fun of my sacred shit and I will dedicate every run to you. I will make you a part of something you profess to hate." And let's be real, it's pretty fucking funny. This wouldn't have worked for a Mark or a Brian. It's that beautiful double entendre running through this world of "that's what she said" jokes.

I thought about retiring it after the Portland Marathon was finished or with 2015. Or maybe I will turn it into an actual event with a cartoon of Dick falling into a sarlacc pit on the back. The race that lasts a thousand years...