Friendly Does Not Equal Fruity

Good afternoon readers, here's a juicy one for ya. Okay, not that juicy but it's at least something to read.

Yesterday I went to the Thursday evening run at Kennedy Park. It was absolutely perfect weather; warm enough to work up a sweat, but not so warm you wanted to die. Oh, it was good. And what was even better was that there was a large congregation of mountain bikers. Not that I cared too much about people getting out and riding bikes, but I did care that the bikers were predominantly athletic women in my age range. Sure, some of them were probably crunchies, but they seemed to be pretty cool (from the safe distance I kept). Not that I was hiding, they were setting up with their groups, I was setting up with mine. But it's good to know these chicks are out there, especially once I get a few hours of mountainbiking under my belt.

The run was fun in and of itself. I hung back with the people I normally run with (sorry, ended with a preposition), but after a while I busted up to the front group to really push myself. These guys were faster than I normally run so I thought this would be a good chance to really stretch my legs and give myself a good hurting. I did, and I did. Plus, the people in the back were women who were plotting their Girl's Club.

The husband of one of the women (he fixed my bike) is moving away for about a year and she's turning his garage into their clubhouse. They were planning the decorations, complete with lifesize posters of Usher (sans shirt, I assume). At one point, Nancy turns to me and says "Todd, you can come too. We consider you to be one of the girls."

[Insert record scratching here]

"That's gonna have to be a negatory. I have a hard enough time as it is, I don't need to be part of a Girl's Club" I replied. She promised that if any eligible girls joined, they'd be sure to talk me up. I promised that I wouldn't hang out, but would let them talk me up. Ladies, I appreciate the sentiment, but you're not doing me any favors.

After the run, a bunch of us went to The Heritage, a nice little pub/restaurant in Lenox. We went in, moved some tables together and I hit the head to whiz and wipe the sweat off my arms and face. I was standing at the urinal (to all of the ladies out there, this is a personal moment in a man's day and a vulnerable one at that) when this drunk guy walks in and says something to the effect of: "Hey, I saw you come in and wanted to talk to you."

[Insert record scratching here]

"SAY WHAT!?" I replied. At this point he clarified that by "you" he meant "you guys" and he meant he saw a group of runners come in and order several pitchers of beer. He was looking for a group of runners that like to go out for beers after a run. Apparently he had just run the Boston Marathon, which I think he used to qualify himself as a runner. I said sure, I'd get his e-mail address and pass it along to our "Event Coordinator" who sends out e-mails for all of the runs.

We walked out of the pisser together and up to the bar to get something to write on. As he hands me his e-mail address, I become very aware of how this must look. Two guys walk out of a bathroom and one guy hands the other guy a piece of paper with what one can only assume is a phone number.

Strike two for the Cootster!

Now, the "Ladies, Don't Bother" beacon is shining brightly with a picture of yours truly broadcast against the gathering clouds. I can cross Lenox off the list of places where I can still present myself with some semblance of heterosexuality.

Dinner was good, and the people were all really fun. I didn't know any of them before last night, and they were cool folks. Of course, their kids are all around my age, so once again I've hooked up with more people in their 50s. Sweet. Nobody mentioned the bathroom incident, but when the one lady asked if I was single she had that "Oh, I know why he's single" look on her face that most women get when they talk to me. Isn't my goatee macho enough?

All in all, it was fun from a running/social - and ultimately blog fodder - standpoint. Unfortunately, the new people I met may have the wrong impression about me.

P.S. To reiterate what I'm sure I've said in the past, I'm not a homophobe. I have absolutely no problem with anyone with any preference (excluding people who prefer kids). Same sex marraiges? Fantastic! Old dudes marrying young chicks? More power to ya. Old chicks marrying young dudes? Grrrreat! Not that there's anything wrong with those, they're just not for me. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned.

P.P.S. I just got a response from our running club e-mail lady. Upon adding the drunk bathroom dude to the e-mail list, she responded with "Only you could have this kind of 'close encounter'!" You see what I'm saying, folks?

P.P.P.S. She just sent me another message. Apparently there weren't any guys who fit his description (first name, last initial, approx age, region) in the Boston Marathon roster. Maybe I was being hit on.

Over and out,
Old "Straight as an Arrow" Coot