Seemed like a good idea at the time.

 I'm equal parts amused and bemused as I look back on various things I undertook or did as a matter of routine that I would at a minimum hesitate to do today and more likely outright refuse to repeat with a dismissive snort. I shake my head in disbelief sometimes when I recall some of the nutty stuff that seemed perfectly normal when I was in the midst of it.

 As a boy of ten or so years old, for example, it was no big deal to get up on a summer morning, grab a random box from the garage or basement, and walk a half mile or so to my best snake hunting field.  There I would stalk, catch, examine, and sometimes bring home the finest garter snakes to be found in all of Genesee County.  On the rare occasion that one would reel and bite me, it was as much a curiosity as it was, oh I don't know... a snake biting me?  What makes it so amusing now is the way I know way down where I know stuff for sure that today I would just as soon not reach down and pick up a writhing snake for any reason, most especially a recreational one.  And furthermore, if you're the one bold enough to do so, don't be handing it to me. So how does one progress (regress?) from being comfortable with heading out for a snake hunt after a bowl of Alphabits to being real real ok with never coming within sight of a snake in the wild again?

 Fast forward to me as an adult in his mid forties.  Years of growing up to make increasingly better judgements under my belt, I make one of the most folly imbued, bafflingly defenseless decisions of my life.  And I can only hope it remains the biggest one of my life for all time.  The funny thing is, I remember the very moment - I could show you the specific location along my running route, when it seemed perfectly rational to enter a 100k ultra marathon.  Yup, I was going to spend the summer of 2011 training to race along a winding path from Gaylord to Mackinaw City.  Not once during that lost summer of training runs often lasting as long as five or six hours do I remember having a second thought.  I have to admit it was kinda fun playing the role of mad nutritional scientist, trying to figure out and dial in just exactly how you fuel yourself through such extremes of endurance.  In the end, it's not much fancier than not getting low on sodium, and consuming as many calories as you can hold down while staying reasonably hydrated.

 I had to take a week off work after that race.  It felt like I'd survived a train wreck in which I was found a hundred yards from the train.  There are people who take races like this and even longer ones in stride. No pun intended.  .  .  They may do a few of them in a given year.  I am not nor could I ever be one of these people.  When I reflect on this running accomplishment it's as if I'm spying someone else's memory.  I really can't believe I did it. And I don't mean that in a pat-myself-on-the-back way.  I mean it much more in a what-the-hell-was-I-thinking way.

  Don't think for a minute that these are the only two examples of dubious behavior I could come up with. But as you know if you've visited this kooky blog before, I try to mercifully draw each entry to a close after asking just a couple minutes of your time, understandably spent wondering why you again visited this kooky blog.  But I'm glad you did.  I'm hoping it won't quite rate up there with snake hunts and 62 mile runs on your own list of questionable acts.