The Doogie acquires a brother
The Doogie and I were out running Edinburgh’s Seven Hills this morning - hardly a cloud in the sky and Doogie, for once, was not moaning.
In fact… in fact the Doogie was EXCITED. Next month we’re going on another little training run in Farnham on a stretch of the Pilgrim’s Way. Sixty-six miles in a couple of days and, much more excitingly, we’ll be spending one night in a gym with the other 220 runners. Ear-plugs can be quite handy.
“But have you seen the race email??” says the Doogie. Very eager.
“No - what does it say?”
“It’s amazing!” he says. “I even got you a print-out! Read this!”
I stop running. I read. This is what the Doogie is so excited about: “In regards to bathing facilities there are plenty of showers though these will be shared meaning males and females will be showering in the same blocks. Please do note however that each cubicle has a door you can easily lock for privacy.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “So you’re excited, are you?”
“Yes!” he said. “Very!”
“And what are you going to do in these showers?”
“Well I’m just going to shower. But maybe I’ll drop the soap. Maybe I’ll offer my shampoo. There are lots of possibilities! Did I tell you about my six-pack?”
“Yes, you did tell me about the six-pack. But I thought you needed 30 minutes in the gym to put the pack into position.”
“True,” he said. “Hopefully they’ll have a gym there.”
“Tell you what. Why don’t you stride through the shower-room and then, accidentally-like, drop your towel. And there you are - floundering around, naked as the day you were born, trying to pick it up.”
“Brilliant!”
“The hotties are just going to love you!”
Later, we were running down Arthur’s Seat, the last of the Seven Hills. We came across Sara Whitby and her buddy Jane Raven. Introductions were made - the Doogie stands there slobbering and sweaty. In social situations, it’s usually best when he keeps his mouth shut.
“Tell me,” says Jane. “You two look very similar - are you brothers?”
Ahhhh! Such sweet music to my ears. And strangely enough, we have heard this before from another couple of runners - who actually thought we were twins.
The Doogie visibly blenched. Perhaps it’s because I just happen to have 12 years on him.
“That’s right,” I said to Jane. “We’re brothers!”
How I love to see the Doogie squirm. Boy was he squirming!
Eventually he comes up with a suitably acidic response. “He’s my dad!” says the Doogie.
We continued to jog. “So how’s my little brother getting on?” I asked.
“I don’t look anything like you,” he said. He’s hurting. Real bad.
“Well - Jane certainly thinks we’re brothers. Very intelligent woman, you know.”
“Maybe it’s just because we’re both really sweaty -”
“Yeah maybe - and maybe you just haven’t aged quite so well as some people round here…”