The trouble with cars is that they are always in the way. Driving. And not looking. And not giving us runners any freakin’ respect. That’s right, no respect. R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

This little guy was just trying to get his tempo run in.
I mean sheesh, just cause we like to run doesn’t mean we should be ignored while trying to cross the dang road.

There’s an epidemic sweeping the runner nation. One of the most pleasant people I know has been affected. Our Hollster has fallen prey to it. So has our Navy Steve. And I must admit I have been known to give an overly sarcastic, “Gee freakin’ thank A-hole!” to a driver who doesn’t let me cross the road.

What is it? Well, it’s been given a name. Runner’s Rage.

Now most of the time, we runners are a relaxed lot. We are out there bustin’ our humps and getting some kick ass stress relief on, but don’t interrupt our run for your dumb right turn or you may get the finger. Or two fingers. Or in some cases, a palm to your bumper.

Drivers of the world take heed. There is one little lady out there who will give you a tongue lashing! And one fellow who may actually dent your car with his palm!

To you drivers I say, “Wh#$% tqeh#%$#! is @#%^@#% fp@$%^@^!!!!”

Ahhh. I feel better now.