Last September, as we and a few of our friends were discussing some group training runs that we had done to prepare for a relay race, the idea was tossed around of starting a runners club that would meet once a week for a communal dash. The conversation ended with all of us deciding to give it a go. Jason and I ran anyway so why not smack the asphalt with some buddies?

We collectively elected to operate our club with homogeny of responsibility a.k.a. we would take turns “hosting” our runs. The job of choosing locations and arranging our gatherings would alternate between members each week.

Every week Jason insists on taking a picture of our run. This has proven good advertising and has escalated attendance and anticipation.

I offered to create a Facebook group page for us so we would have a means of communicating with each other easily about our meetings. I also took it upon myself, because no one else offered any creative assistance, to name our organization. I decided to call us the R.A.C., an acronym for The Run Around Club. Utterly brilliant, right? Even more brilliant is the hidden joke in that name. For the greater part of my life my family and friends have referred to me as Rac so I kind of named this club after myself. What an ingenious egomaniac I am!

Jason and I offered to plan the R.A.C.’s inaugural run. Only 4 people showed up for that historic sprint but it was enough to get the movement going. I guess I shouldn’t have set everything up and taken all that initial initiative though. Everyone else acclimated very quickly, virtually instantly, to not having to be involved in the scheduling and location selecting. After multiple members shrugged off taking their turn at planning, Jason and I somehow became the “hosts” of every week from now until forever. Alas, why must I be so organized and responsible…and bossy? It almost always comes back to bite me. Jason and I now do pretty much all the coordinating, communicating, strategizing, energizing, and fraternizing for the R.A.C.

Stretching your upper thighs is very important before running, especially when striving to look ridiculous.

Whether due to the perseverance of our group’s great leaders, which I am gratuitously patting myself on the back for, or to the determination of our members, our club has been a huge success. Attendance at the R.A.C. has steadily increased since its inception. In the first month or two we never had more then 4 or 5 runners at each of our meetings but now we usually have about 7. We jogged outside in the fall until the sun set too prematurely to permit this and then we switched to a combo of outdoor Saturday and indoor evening runs. We’ve dashed over all manner of trail and track as we’ve diligently hit the pavement every week. The R.A.C. has only defaulted once and that was while Jason and I were away on vacation and therefore unable to bestow order to the entire universe.

The R.A.C. has proven itself remarkable. It motivates people to be more active than they ever thought they could be persuaded to be and it transforms what some would consider to be a miserable pursuit into a thrilling social experience. As we scuttle along we chat, race each other, and forget that we are actually exercising. The peer pressure and competitive challenge do wonders too I might add. Jason’s the superhero among us and he inspires us, or shames us, into picking up our pace a little. Seeing some club members try to outrun him makes me giggle a bit but keep it up boys.

Jeremy must not have gotten the "jumping" memo. His confused feet were firmly on the ground while the rest of ours were soaring.

I look forward to seeing my friends accomplish that which they didn’t think was possible as the R.A.C. continues to grow and outpace itself. Many of our members have already set lofty goals for themselves to push their progress along. Excellent! Long may the R.A.C. continue to flatten the flabby and firm the infirmed while entertaining all!

For years Jason and I have harbored fantasies of taking a boarding trip with a group of our powder junkie buddies: staying close to a fabulous resort, boarding until we are exhausted, coming back to our lodgings and jumping in a hot tub to relax our overly-used limbs. Doesn’t that sound exquisite? Well, last weekend all that we desired came to pass.

After Jacob pooped out, I rode with these three rascals. I did a decent job keeping up with them. Yeah me!

Jason and I invited a few of our friends, namely Adam, Jacob, and Jeremy, to spend the weekend with us at one of our timeshares located only ten minutes from Powder Mountain, a ski resort we had never ridden but had heard great things about. Our outing plans basically revolved around boards of various types: snowboards and game boards. Once our “boarding weekend” was cleverly named to reflect its clever design its ultimate success was assured.

The snow at Powder Mountain was surprisingly nice considering none of it was new and the sunshine was in no short supply.

Originally Abigail, Adam’s wife, was also going to join us but a sick kiddie put a stop to that. So I was stuck with four boys for the weekend and all I can say is that boys are messy. In regards to leaving dirty dishes and half eaten cookies around I think they were worse than children. I felt like I was forced into the role of den mother a bit but nothing makes a man feel at home like perpetual nagging. Right boys?

Lift rides provide ample opportunity for chatting and freezing.

We started the weekend off Friday night by watching a big mountain boarding flick, The Art of FLIGHT, and playing a few board games. Then we woke on Saturday morning all stoked to hit the peaks.

For some stupid reason we all decided to do "sexy snowboarder" poses at the top of the lift. Jeremy's was not suitable for children, or for anyone else with eyes really. Jason's just looked goofy.

My "hot" pose could be described by many adjectives but "hot" is not likely to be one of them.

I have to say that I was generally impressed with Powder Mountain. Even though we went on a Saturday this enormous resort wasn’t crowded at all; with runs up to 4 miles long I guess it’s easy to spread riders out. So no complaints from me…though Jacob may have a few. He hadn’t boarded in years and his reintroduction to the sport wasn’t as glamorous as he had envisioned it. He seemed to be surprised by the frequency of his falling; I wasn’t. (Jacob, you expected me to make fun of you so I’d hate to disappoint.)

Jacob actually looked normal in his "alluring" photo. How did he manage that when the rest of us appeared ridiculous?

Our boarding posse groped the slopes until the sun started going down and took the temperatures with it. Then it was hot tub time baby! We thawed out in the timeshare’s hot tub and dry sauna, and then, when male collective brain dysfunction syndrome kicked in, we had a snowball fight with painfully crystallized snow, while in our wet swimming attire, before beginning the warming process all over again. Boys are dumb but they can be fun.

Four topless boys hanging in a tub, cuddling with each other while their bubbles go "glub."

I quite enjoyed my boarding weekend. I think it might be something we repeat in the future but I hope next time a few ladies will join us so I don’t have to be the only voice of reason or cleanliness’ lone sentinel.

Runners these days seem to long for not just a bit of pavement but a bit of an adventure as well. More and more races keep cropping up with carefully designed obstructions incorporated into their courses to create extra challenging and atypical events. These obstacles may come in the form of giant tubes that have to be hurdled, muddy pits that must be waded through, or any other awkward and messy hindrance conceivable. This extreme racing trend definitely has its appeal. Who wouldn’t want to climb a wiggling wall made of poles too bulky and slick to really hold on to?

Climbing this wall was much scarier than it looks. The poles were too large to grasp firmly and the contraption swayed with each movement made.

Last week Jason and I, along with our friend Jeremy, ran in a 5K race, which was outfitted with impediments, called Lick the Pole.

It was Jeremy’s first race ever. Apparently, he was so excited about it that he somehow didn’t notice he was wearing his wife’s sweatpants instead of his own. They looked distinctly feminine and were about 6 inches too short for him. I guess at least he remembered to wear pants.

These tires were tubular. The three of us raced through them. Jeremy lost even with his repeated elbowing attempts.

This race was supposed to trek over thick crunchy snow but Jack Frost ruined all that with his delinquency. We haven’t gotten much precipitation as of late, which is unusual for this time of year, so we weren’t sprinting across deep powder as planned. Instead, we just had a couple inches of flakes to make our progression slippery.

If it looks like I was smashing Jeremy's face into this pipe as I leaped dramatically over him there's a perfectly logical explanation for it: I was.

But at least Jack’s tame mood meant comfortable temperatures for us on race day. It was very pleasant in the hills of Soldier Hollow. We had a blast crawling under squat nets, jumping over frozen pipes, and pumping our way through rows of tires. I only wish there had been about double the number of obstacles and a foot or two more of snow. Then everything would have been perfect.

Jeremy decided that sliding headfirst over these pipes would be easier than jumping them. He was incorrect though, as is often the case. His method proved exhausting albeit amusing.

If you have been experiencing feelings of ancientness, lethargicness, boringness, disheartenedness, glumness, or bloatedness might I suggest a simple cure: a little adventure. Jason and I still feel like younglings. We are always involved in crazy activities that keep monotony from sneaking up on us. You too can overcome the cogs of your routine. Why not add a little excitement to your life? Why not add a little run? If you don’t think running a race sounds too thrilling that’s because you’ve never tried to lick it!

Another zombie fest = further justified disgustingness. Yes, for the third time in as many months Jason and I again painted ourselves gray, putrefied our skin with latex, and smeared fake blood all over our mugs. I guess you can take the Sabins out of the filth but you can’t take the filth out of the Sabins.

We participated in Night of the Running Dead, a 5K race to benefit the Huntsman Cancer Institute, with 5 of our buddies about a week ago. Racers could run as a zombie or a meal-I mean a human. The humans got a 2 minute head start after which the undead were set loose on them.

Everyone here was in a fight for their lives...or for their food at the very least. Except Drew, he was just out for a pleasant jog.

Jason and I decided to join the zombie group, as did our sister-in-law Simone. Our choice of allegiance shouldn’t surprise you; we are pretty rotten. The rest of our friends decided they’d rather run for their lives than after their food. Serve yourselves.

That climbing a tree trick never works; zombies like their grub skewered.

The concept behind this race was dreadfully enticing. Who doesn’t dream of being chased down by reanimated corpses or salivate at the thought of some fresh meat? The setting was pretty ideal too. The Utah State Fairgrounds provided that abandoned city feel you’d expect from a ghoul-infested post-apocalyptic municipality. But, while this event had the makings of grisly greatness, its perfection was marred by two pesky problems.

Cam was undaunted by little ol' zombified me. Doh! Even as a decaying corpse I can't get no respect!

First, the run started at 3:00 in the afternoon on what turned out to be an uncharacteristically warm day for October. We were feeling every one of those nearly 80 degrees as we tromped along. Thanks to the heat my zombie makeup practically did transform me into the undead. Not only did that thick stuff block my sweat and accelerate my overheating but it also gave me the sensation that I was falling apart which, due to my disintegrating latex, I actually was. It’s a tad alarming to wipe your perspiring forehead and find blood on your fingers even if you know that blood originated from a bottle you dumped thoroughly all over your face.

Brains are good. Brains are tasty. One of these days I'll get some...maybe.

My second issue with this race was that it was a little too authentically chaotic. It involved three laps around the fairgrounds but the designated route changed on each loop and there were no directing signs, which meant that everyone was literally running around in circles with no idea where they were supposed to be going. That old trick of just following the runners in front of you was no help; it’s not like those people knew where they were headed either or were necessarily even on the same lap as you.

The undead were starving and ready to sprint. Nothing like the incentive of a little intestinal gorging to hurry you along.

And it wasn’t just the participants that were confused. When Jason completed his three laps and then tried to finish the race he was told by a volunteer that he needed to go back around yet again. That guy absolutely refused to let Jason pass. Huh? Though robbed of his impressive finish time, Jason did accomplish his goal of catching up to Cam. I guess the promise of a delicious Camburger sufficiently quickened his step.

The humans taunted us fiends from behind the safety of closed door(s)??? Good thing zombies aren't too bright because it would seem that those people didn't adequately think this situation through.

Like Jason, all of our finish times weren’t even close to accurate owing to the varying routes we took. But we succored our race frustrations by stuffing our faces afterwards with waffles and frites from Bruges. Waffles may not be quite as appealing as brains but when they’re chocolate filled I think it’s a close tossup.

Watch out boys we'll chew you up!

As a side note, we will give this race another shot next year. I suspect the organizers have received many a complaint and will not make the same mistakes again.