I haven’t written much about human sexuality since running is the topic of this blog; however, I’ll be working on a way to mesh the two in the next few posts.

My disincarnate consultant has advised that my absurd and wacky posts are getting old, and it’s time to explore a new avenue. Since it’s well known that sex sells, I should focus on edgy, racy, risqué posts.

I’ve been a little worried about this because some suggestions have been made, one of which is that I need to put myself in the middle of the action. This will be a challenge as I must reveal some things about myself, and as well, word it in just the right way so instead of being revolting, it’s entertaining and interesting.

Previously I delved in this topic with a couple posts about running fantasies which actually were sexual fantasies. If you click on the link I just provided, you’ll read about a fantasy in which I’m disrobing as a woman watches from her apartment window. Often, fantasies require circumstances over which you have no control, so it seems unlikely they’d come true. However, in this case, the situation and details of my fantasy took place fairly recently. It was nearly a 100% accurate manifestation of thoughts that I had several years earlier.

So in the next few posts I will attempt to convey experiences and situations in a delightful and jolly fashion that will make even the most moral, straight-laced person say, “Aw schucks, that’s no big deal.”

And to myself I say, “How am I going to pull this off?”

I once was involved in a scheme to provide false information to a large daily newspaper.

It went on for most of a summer, and introducing the doctored facts into the newspaper reportage was quite successful. Not once was I questioned, nor was there any hint of suspicion.

When I was in high school, an all-comers track meet was put on by the Spokane Parks Department every Wednesday evening during the summer. My best friends, Dave and Mike Dixon, often entered with me.

The field of runners was small, and we usually had no trouble winning races. A guy recorded the times and names of the winners, and the next day, the results were printed in the sports section of the Spokane Spokesman-Review.

The first week we did this, I won the mile and said my name was Marty Miler. However, the next day, an editor must have thought it was a misspelling because the name was changed to Marty Miller.

We changed out tactics slightly, and the Dixons and I succeeded in our weekly mischief. We were delighted whenever the goofy, made-up names got into the newspaper.

One week the three of us and another friend formed a mile-relay team. Around this time, the world mile record, held by Jim Ryun of the U.S., was broken by Filbert Bayi of Tanzania. Not long after, John Walker of New Zealand broke it again. Another top runner, Marty Liquori of the U.S., was also running great times.

Only the last names of the winning relay team were printed in the paper, which we won. We used the names of the runners I just mentioned, with different first names to avoid being obvious. Anyone following track and field would have caught on, even with the changed first names, but apparently the result-taker was not a track and field guy.

The next day, the Spokesman-Review reported that the team of Ryun, Liquori, Bayi and Walker won the mile relay.

It’s the only time in Spokane history that four of the fastest milers in the world came to town to make stars of themselves at the parks department all-comers meet.

Maybe it seems a little racy going commando-style, which most people know is not wearing underwear. However, most men’s running shorts are outfitted with an internal “holder” which substitutes for underwear and prevents flopping around.

Though I like to dress warmly during the cold months, on warm summer days, it’s more comfortable to rely on the built-in holder. As well, some running short styles are pretty short, and your underwear could show, which I don’t think is fashionable.

When I was younger, all running shorts were short, so it was common to go commando. However, occasionally some problems came up.

Over time, the elastic bands in the holder become less taut, and on occasion it fails to perform. Since most running shorts are made of thin and light material, when this happens, flopping occurs, and it can be obvious.

This has happened to me a few times, and I’m faced with the difficult choice of putting my hands down my shorts to make an adjustment, or just riding it out.

If I’m in a somewhat secluded area, an adjustment is quick and easy. I’m reluctant to fiddle inside my shorts if I think people can see, so usually I’ll keep running until I come to a good spot.

Someday, however, perhaps it’ll become fashionable to run commando in shorts that don’t have the internal holder. In that case, because of my experience, I won’t have much trouble adapting to this new style.

Drilling equipment, storage tanks and big diesel generators may soon be sitting in my front yard. I explained how I had to cancel this year’s Pine and Basalt Marathon in a recent post, but plans were on for resuming the race next year.

After arriving home from work last week, I found a sign in my yard saying my lot is being rezoned from single-family residential to industrial-unrestricted.

I found out the company petitioning for the change has an office in town, and I went right over. At first, no one would talk to me, but after demanding answers, a guy finally met with me.

He said I own the land, but not the mineral rights. When I pointed out how hard I worked to transform my yard from a lawn to a natural setting with indigenous plants mimicking the Eastern Washington landscape, he said it’s nothing but an empty, weedy field.

My front yard is not an empty, weedy field! I also have a thriving population of indigenous animals that Ruby Redpepper helped me establish.

“Yeah, we noticed the wildlife, he said to me. “We’ll have to get rid of them cuz they’ll be in the way.”

Oh, I got hopping mad. I told him there was no way a fracking operation was going to happen in my front yard. He said a team of lawyers will ensure that it will.

I decided to take this issue to the streets. You’ll find me marching from dawn to dusk in front of my house as I fight this terrible injustice.

(Note: This post is a spoof. No oil-fracking company is planning to drill in my front yard.)