A letter "back home"

Hello you wild and crazy Floridians!

I'm sitting here in a classroom in Atlanta, proctoring a Spanish/French exam and disguised as a high school teacher. There are 18 kids in here, none of them which appear to be cheating to the naked eye. No riots, no expulsions, no deaths have happened on my watch as of yet. Jesus wept.

A lot has happened to me since I've left your shiny state - beside the fact that I've put on 20 pounds and now go for waddles instead of runs. Though I do miss the couch at Running Sports, I have found one in our Upper School Chaplain's office at school. She's 35 and hot but who's counting? Me, I'm just trying to get by in this crazy Atlanta world.

I love my job and my life, though I'm not getting any. Perhaps that was too much information for my holiday "Christmas card" but facts are facts and I am supposed to be a reporter. Have a very small and wee intention to run the Chicago Marathon in '09 - Gary Walk save me a room. Plan on breaking the six-hour mark and qualify to stay the hell out of Boston for as long as I shall live. Once you've kissed your share of Wellesley girls, the feeling to go back kinda fades.

My ex-wife is in Boston, speaking of, so perhaps I'm not allowed back anyway. She's doing fine and would say hello if she knew I were writing this. So hello, and let's move on.

My cross country team had a couple qualify for state - one girl finished in the top ten. My boys tennis team might win the state title in spite of me, and I'm spending the winter months sitting at the scorer's table during basketball games and keeping up with all the points, fouls and time outs. They even make me wear an official shirt with the black and white stripes on it. Me, official, who figured?

My Falcons have screwed up and won a few games, my Georgia Bulldogs can't tackle for shit and my Braves will probably make it back to postseason sometimes before or after hell freezes. My tennis game is pretty good - my mixed doubles partner is a hot 25-year-old Spaniard who I've often tried to seduce and failed miserably. She has a great forehand, though.

But enough about me.

George R., keep sending me those Running Sports Newsletters but start putting more pictures of Adrianna in there. Gary, gain some weight. George B., you and I sound like we're on the same running program these days, so perhaps we'll go for a 1/4 mile jog some day. Janine, call me when you get to Monroe - we'll run and I'll try not to stare. Thom, write your cook book. There's money to be made. Kevin Spina - attend a PB Roadrunner meeting and fall asleep in my honor - just the way I used to do it. And order two beers and charge them to Allan Metsky. And Kara Weber - Merry Christmas and I hoped you've moved on successfully. You deserve the best and I really mean that. Though I still wish your Gators would quit kicking the absolute shit out of my Bulldogs every Halloween.

I must go now. The kids are finishing up and I'm supposed to say something profound. All I can think of is, "Man, I have to pee!" They probably pay to hear a little more than that, something more Shakespearean. Oh well, who died and left me boss.

I'm just glad to be here.

And one day, yes one day, I'll return to your hot lands and go for a run. You guys can run 10 and I'll run from Running Sports to US 1 and back and wait for your asses at Dunkin Donuts. First bagel is on Gary Walk, but I'll buy the vanilla coffee with cream and teeth-rotting amounts of sugar. My stomach's rolling just thinking about it.

Merry Christmas though, seriously, and Happy New Year.

And as always, somebody kiss Adrianna for me.

DunnJames Dunn