So You Married A Runner. My Apologies.

Remember when  you said I do?  Did you really think you had any idea what you were in for?


Did you think you would ever see so much laundry in your life?  Did you ever realize just one person – possibly one very little person – could ever PRODUCE that much laundry?  Let’s not even bring up the amount, but how absolutely, inhumanly, STANKASS said laundry can be?  Sorry baby, I may only come in at 5’3″, but I can can get a sweat on as good as Phil Simms ever did.

You're welcome Kellie.

You’re welcome Kellie.

Let’s just get the more “sensitive” areas of being married to a runner person out of the way shall we?  I’m going to break these down into three general categories:

1.   No holds barred conversations regarding bodily functions.  Suddenly, in sickness and in health begin to take on a whole new meaning.  Sleeve snot?  Check.  Sprints to the bathroom after being gone for only 20 minutes the day after Margarita Madness, only to be treated to the most inhuman sounds possible?  Check.  Clothing that still smells like decomposing body even after being pre-treated, soaked in bleach, vinegar, and every de-fumigating solution ever invented?  Check.  It’s all part of the ’til death do us part package.  Guess you just never thought the “death” part included the odor.

Oh. My. God.

Oh. My. God.

2. Dealing with sad puppy dog face the closer registration day gets.  And you said no.  Now let’s give credit where credit is due.  There’s not too many significant others who can unequivocally drop the hammer when facing the power of a runDisney event.  But let’s be honest.  Who really has the power to resist the numerous heavy sighs, slammed cabinet doors, 2,145 repeats of Let It Go, and denial of…well, you know – because you want to spend your vacation at this place instead?

I don't even know what to say.

I don’t even know what to say.

3. Wondering just how many shoes, clothes, gadgets, bags, and weird supplements one runner can possibly collect.  You go to the fridge simply looking for a quick snack.  Instead, you spend the next 15 minutes digging through Beans, Bloks, waffles, bars, and some weird, nasty goopy stuff with the oh-so-appetizing description of goo.  Feeling adventurous – and slightly frustrated at the lack of Snickers, Milky Ways, and just plain good ol’ American Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups – you rip open a bag of what looks like jelly beans.  When suddenly, out of nowhere, this comes flying at your head.

Step away from the Sport Beans and nobody gets hurt. NOW.

Step away from the Sport Beans and nobody gets hurt. NOW.

I know there’s plenty of other areas of concern for those co-existing with us runner types, but I figured these are probably the main areas of contention concern.  I readily admit it, we can be a frightful bunch of individuals.  We have our own idiosyncrasies, disgusting habits, and heck – we’ve even invented our own language.  So what’s an innocent, by-standing, non-runner to do?  I think you know the answer to that one.

Yes.  Become the douche.  It'll be okay.

Yes. Become the douche. It’ll be okay. I promise.

 Enjoy the ride.

What annoying, disgusting habits does your significant other have to put up with?