The Little Red Devil and the Little White Angel

The strangest thing happened to me the other day…

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about whether to go for the full marathon again, or just do the half marathon in Nashville. 26.2 or 13.1; 13.1 or 26.2? Back and forth, back and forth. I ponder the question when I am out training, or sometimes when I am just relaxing. So the other day, back from another early training run / walk and still a little bleary eyed, I was shaving prior to jumping into the shower. I glanced up at the mirror, shrieked like a little girl, and dropped my razor in the sink. There on my shoulders were two tiny figures!

On my left shoulder was a little red devil. He had tiny red horns and cloven feet, a lashing crimson tail with a point on the end, and a little pitchfork. He wore a little red shirt with a “26.2” emblazoned on the front of it. His devilish little red beard came to a point, and his vermillion face had a nasty sneering expression. Tendrils of smoke swirled around him, and there was a faint aroma of burning sulfur.

On my right shoulder was a tiny white angel. She had lovely white wings, wore a golden halo over her yellow locks, and carried a tiny harp. On the front of her flowing white robe, in a sky-blue color, was inscribed “13.1”. She looked peaceful and, well, angelic. I regained my composure and asked the angel to turn her head for second while I reached for a towel, which I wrapped around my waist. Then I queried “OK, you two. What’s going on?”

The tiny red devil spoke first. “What’s this about you thinking of only doing a half marathon this time? What, are you a wimp?”

The little white angel chimed in. “A wimp? No one who is a wimp can do a half marathon. That is 13.1 miles! Seems to me that he is using good judgment, and trying to take proper care of his body.”

With a mocking tone, and a sneer, red devil said “Oh, he is taking proper care of his body, is he? That’s different! Art, I can’t believe you! Three marathons under your belt and now you have these doubts about another one. Come on, man-up here, bucko!”

White angel replied quickly. “A real man knows when to take good care of his body, to listen to his inner thoughts. 13.1 is right for you this time, Art.”

Sparks flew from the red devils mouth! “You make me sick, both of you!” he shouted. He calmed down a bit, and said “Think of it, Art. Another 26.2 pin for your TNT hat. How would that look?”

I spoke for the first time in this debate. “It would look great. I would love to earn my fourth 26.2 pin for my hat. That is why I am training, so far, for the full marathon.”

The red devil gave an impish grin. “Attaboy!” he exclaimed. “I knew that I could count on you.”

The little white angel shook her head calmly. “No Art, it is too much. You are too old. Look at your beard – it is as snow-white as my gown!”

I got a little irritated. “Too old??? I am not too old. Also, I don’t have a beard. That is shaving cream, little angel.”

“Ohhhhh! Sorry!” The little angel realized that she had made a tactical error – never tell a 50-something person that they are too old – and changed tacks a bit. “Look, remember in ‘You! The Owner’s Manual’ the statement that running a full marathon is not good for your body? Remember that? At any age! Those guys are doctors, Art.”

The fire engine-red devil sneered again. “So what do they know? They have never met you, Art. What, did your legs fall off after the first three marathons? Have you noted any damage to your body? Of course not! You were fine. Don’t listen to her! You know you really want to go 26.2! Trust your primal urges. You know you want to do it! Angels are always trying to spoil everyone’s fun by getting you to deny what you want.”

The little white angel showed just a hint of irritation, but took a few seconds to play some beautiful music on her harp, and spoke back up, quite calmly. “Well as far as fun goes, let’s see. Are ice baths fun? If you do a half marathon, you won’t need any ice water baths, or maybe one or two at most. How about that?”

I glanced at her in the mirror, and replied “That’s a really good point. Those ice water baths are pretty tough.”

The devil snorted, and flames shot from his nostrils. “Ice water baths, tough? Do you have any idea what cancer patients go through? It makes ice water baths look like a picnic!”

Now it was my turn to be annoyed with him. “For your information, yes, I know quite well what cancer patients go through, and yes, it does make ice water baths seem pretty tame. But I still wouldn’t call them fun. And aren’t you devils all supposed to be about fun?”

The little devil ignored that retort, and the white angel chimed in. “Think of all the extra sleep you will get. Instead of having to get up at 4AM and do 9 or 10 miles before work, you can sleep until 4:45 and only do 5 or 6 miles. How does that sound?”

“You know, I really hate those 4AM alarm sets…”

Quick as a flash, the little devil jabbed me in the neck with his pitchfork! I shouted “Ouch! Son of a … That hurt!”

“Oh, did that hurt?” he mocked. “Good, glad I’ve gotten your attention. Now stay with me here, big guy. Why don’t you read your own poem, ‘Relentless’? Do you remember writing that? Think of all the cancer patients you wrote about instead of getting a little extra beauty sleep which, no offense, isn’t exactly doing you any good.”

The little angel was quick to reply. “What difference does it make to cancer patients if he does a half marathon instead of a full? Besides, you’ve never done a half marathon, Art. It would be a new experience, and you would earn a 13.1 TNT pin. That would look cool on your hat with the three 26.2 pins.”

I mulled that over for a bit, and replied “That’s true. I have never done a half marathon…”

The devil’s face turned a livid shade of crimson and he fairly exploded. “You’re morons, both of you! He has too done a half marathon, he just does them two at a time. You’ve done that three times now, Art. For God’s sake …” He stopped suddenly, an expression of pure fear flashing over his face like a shadow. He looked around quickly, then glanced downward and said “I didn’t mean that, it’s just an expression!” Then he looked up at me and said “You want to do a half marathon? Do the Shamrock in March. It would be a great tune-up for the full marathon in April in Nashville.”

The little white angel looked worried, because she knew the nasty little vermillion fellow had made some good points. She said “Shin splints. IT band issues. Hip bursitis. Metatarsalgia. Morton’s neuroma. Plantar fasciaitis...”

The little red devil said “All temporary, and none of them assured. Doing a marathon – permanent!”

The angel ignored this interruption and continued her litany of ailments: “Black toe. Lost toenails. Massive blisters. Blisters on blisters.”

“Give me a break, you foolish little goody two-shoes!” The little red devil guffawed as he lashed his tail. “Those are badges of honor to marathoners. You are not a true marathoner until you have had some or all of those. True?”

I had to agree with him. Then he said “Usually we devils want people to lie, cheat and steal, but I want you to tell us the truth, Art. Didn’t you feel kind of proud the first time your toenail turned the black and purple color of an August thunderstorm?”

I said “Well, other than it hurt like hell and it took 10 months for the nail to grow back, yeah, it was kind of cool.”

The little angel looked a little seasick as her beatific face turned a whiter shade of pale. The little devil glowed a cherry red as he grinned triumphantly and turned a cartwheel ‘cross my shoulder. Then he pumped his right arm, pitchfork in his grip, upwards several times. He chortled and exclaimed “Hurt like hell! I love that expression!”

The white angel composed herself and said “Look Art, angels always have your best interests at heart. What is it you carry in your pocket every day? It is your guardian angel medallion. You never heard of a guardian devil, have you?”

“Excellent point!” I had to agree with that one, big time. The concept of a guardian devil was certainly not one the nuns of my childhood would have advocated. “That really hurts,” said the little devil.

The little white angel started playing some more beautiful music on her harp – it sounded like the harp part from Mozart’s concerto for flute, harp, and orchestra – and smiled sweetly. The little red devil shouted loudly at her. “Will you stop playing that damn thing? I hate music!” Steam shot from his tiny, pointed ears, and he turned beet-red as he glowered at her. “Come on, Art! Don’t listen to her! You know you want to go the distance. Trust your instincts. Trust your desires, your urges. Trust …”

“Look,” I interrupted, “That doesn’t mean I’ve made up my mind. You both have good arguments and valid points. The decision is mine, and it doesn’t have to be made today. What does need to happen today, and soon, is that I need to shave and then get a shower. And I don’t need the help of either of you with that, OK? So, thanks for the advice, but scram!”

The small white angel folded her harp, put her hands together, smiled at me in the mirror, and disappeared upward in a wispy mist. The little red devil muttered something, snarled, and leaped off my shoulder, disappearing downward in a flash of flame and a tiny thunderbolt. And me? As I got into the shower, I thought that I will have a devil of a time this year making up my mind between 13.1 and 26.2, 26.2 and 13.1.