My Roasted Bones


How are you? I am fine. Do you remember writing handwritten notes in your younger days that started out that way? What a weird thing to say.

So….I recently did a longish trail race and had a lot of time with my own thoughts. I don’t recommend either situation. While I was out there cursing the sun and questioning my choices, I considered whether or not I should take this site in a real and honest direction or keep it silly and full of slight lies. I chose one of those options. That brings me to the real title of this post:

How to Stay Fit as a Functional Alcoholic

Step 1: Find a perfectly adequate OBGYN in the midwest. Have that doctor spank your newborn ass into a world of comfortable means with relatively well-adjusted parents. An older sibling to connect with can’t hurt. If you can manage to contort your body into just the right angle to have some innate athletic ability knocked into you, that’s the trifecta.

Step 2: Make sure you are raised in an area with a wholesome school system that doesn’t have too many people or too much competition so you can participate in several sports, arts, and clubs. Participate in all the things so you don’t develop a solid grasp on the idea of cliques or types at that time.

Step 3: Sit back while people around you tell you that you are good at things for 18-25 years. It’s important that you remain in a stable environment without any major trauma or conflict.

Step 4: Take all the opportunities that come your way and ride that wave into a marketable skill with job security.

Step 5: Pay other people to map out a run/hike for you and give you a free sticker and some pizza at the end. You’ve been well conditioned to believe that pizza parties are the ultimate goal.

While you are out on the trails for hours with your overpriced gear and heavily marketed nutrition products, you probably have time to reflect on a conversation you had with a coworker earlier in the week. Maybe this coworker took the bus in one day from a neighborhood with some killer Ethiopian food and a shitload of gentrification. Upon arriving to work 20-30 minutes late, he showed everyone a video he took of a woman strung out on heroin at a bus stop and proceeded to explain how she passed out on the bus and everyone had to transfer to a different bus. The worst part, as he put it, was that she didn’t even pay the fare. His tax dollars go toward supporting this and he is trying to get to work to make a living while she DIDN’T EVEN PAY THE FARE!

You sit calmly through the whole thing and get an unpleasant feeling in your stomach. You truly enjoy your job and know that you and your coworker are both smart people providing an important service…but you can’t shake the feeling.

A few days later, while carefully trekking down a rocky hill and mildly regretting the wine you had with dinner the night before (and the free prosecco they offered when you checked into the swanky hotel before that…and the partial bottle you had the day before that because you were going to be gone a few days and it would go bad), you wonder…

Is the main difference between you and the woman at the bus stop the abundant support and encouragement that you have had your entire life?

Told you it would be real. I love running. I’ll post a recipe soon…probably.

Time is wealth.

Samantha Culwell