The blowing pants isn’t from running speed. It’s wind. Hate the wind. Note my cellphone in my right pocket. That was in case I wanted to order a pizza or something.

All the other laps of the Valentine Massacre Marathon Relay were in aqua socks, but more importantly, they were in my MadMayo shirt.

Shopping tip: you can get camo gloves for practically free at the end of hunting season.

Anyway, I was so busy talking to barefooter Allan Buccola (he did three laps shoeless) that I almost missed the baton hand-off. In between laps I was wearing a fleece pullover, so when I saw MadMayo Misfit Blair turning the corner, I tried to quickly take it off. I got stuck. I contorted my torso in spastic heaves and jerks, only tightening my straight jacket. Panic set in, not only in me but in the spectators who were surely wondering weather to call an ambulance or the cops as I thrashed about hither and thither. Meanwhile Blair was just standing there, baton in hand, unsure of how to deal with the scene my wardrobe malfunction created. “uh, would you like me to go next?” asked MadMayo Misfit Lori, who understood my fit was not cause for concern as she, being a mother, has experience with children.

I then realized Blair had not crossed the timing mat, which meant my drama was going on HIS lap time. I immediately relaxed, took my time, and slowly wiggled out of the pullover. Unfortunately the MadMayo shirt went with it. “Well, since I’m stripping…” off came the socks and shoes.

Blair, or Mr. Dena Harris, made the cool baton.

And that was that. It was very fun, I expect to do it again. Next year, I’m bringing chap stick.

Stupid wind.