I ate his Clif Bar--and I am not sorry

Man, life is the master of throwing curve balls, isn't it? Last week, my new running friend vanished on a foreign trail in Boulder with wild cows, rabid coyotes, bears, and mountain lions, cold winds, and no form of communication.

With the search and rescue on their way, snot dripping down my nose, and my heart thumping at the prospect of my friend being natures supper, all I could do was shake my head and think "that punk".


I ate his post workout Clif Bar as a passive aggressive attempt of getting back at him. Am I sorry? Not really. :)


P.S. He survived without so much as a scratch. He took wrong turn and was picked up by a friendly Boulderite.