It wasn't enough that on the day I was born my parents blessed me with a name that would soon draw thoughts of sweaters draped over polo shirts while a girlfriend named Muffy or Miffy or Belle watches me play croquet.
Nor was it enough when a middle school friend dubbed me with a nickname, which delicious in sandwiches is not so palatable on the ears ("Cheddar!"). And who can forget the mockery of my alter ego Chaz - the Guitar Hero aficionado of facebook fame.
Apparently those have all gone stale. The roar of "Chaaaazzzzyyyyy" on Christmas morning just wouldn't work for another year. And while a poster of Chady Buckets currently hangs on my living room wall for all to see, that too has apparently gone to the birds.
Instead, my family has decided to revert back to my love (hate?) of running while mocking a long deceased great. It is now guaranteed that at the end of every race, I'll hear the same respone - "How'd you do Pre-FAT-taine?" When I come home with a soaked shirt after a quick 10k there is no doubt in my mind I'll hear "Set any land speed records Pre-FAT-taine?" And soon enough, as I'm slipping on my beloved New Balances, I'm sure to hear "I thought you were a Nike man back in the day, Pre-FAT-taine".
So with that in mind, I give you a picture of the great Pre-FAT-taine:
Me in the Hynes 5 miler - (41:06 and no, it wasn't as cold as it may appear)And please remember, if you were to ever forget any one of my nicknames, there is an easy way to hear them all. Slip on some Phil Vassar, load a truck with drunken Holmes and Fredrick boys (except for the driver of course), and drive for an hour. It is a 100% guarantee that the subject of every song, whether man, woman, child or beast, will be replaced with cries of "Cheddar", "Chazzy" and "Chady Buckets".
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