Recurring nightmare

While enjoying the "rest" day, I wanted to take the extra time to discuss a recurring nightmare that I've been having. Maybe it'll be therapeutic to put this to writing, and see if there is some underlying message here.

The setting in the dream is a meeting room in downtown Seattle, filled with people that comprise the planning committee for this year's marathon. The meeting is called to order by the Head Marathon Organizer (HMO). He starts by saying "I'd like to call this meeting to order. In our last few meetings, we discussed all of what went right with this last years race. Today's agenda will address what didn't go so well, and discuss any strategies that need to be instituted to correct the issues. Mr. Secretariat, can you please read the first incident report filed from last years race."

Secretariat reads a complaint submitted from a group of volunteers at the finish line."....and we need to consider closing the course much earlier than the current six hours. The neighbors are sick and tired of listening to six hours of the theme song from Chariots of Fire. We have lives of our own and can't be expected to sit there for that long. Most everyone, except for you-know-who, is done with the race well within four hours. Last year, we resorted to pitching pennies and playing rock/paper/scissors while we were waiting for the last group to finish."

One committee member barked "I heard that there was a food and water station over in Seward Park that was literally consumed by one of those clydesdales. Wiped 'em out. This guy shuffled away with about fifty Power Bars!"

Ned in the back row, chewing on a handful of raisins and Metamucil, bellows, "And another thing.....I've got a friend that I run with that's a seismologist over at the U, and he says there's actually seismic activity during the race that can be pinpointed along the course. He's afraid it could trigger 'the big one'."

Bill, in the middle aisle sprinting on his mobile treadmill, says "Lookit, I think there's clearly enough evidence here that we should narrow our focus, and stop accepting entry applications from......" As the room was roaring in approval of Bill's sentiments before he completed his sentence, HMO stands and slams the gavel onto the table, screaming "Order....Order I say! ....Need I remind the group that the mission statement for our race says that we strive to be a fun-filled and challenging event for all equines - thoroughbreds, geldings, and clydesdales alike."

Now Peter has been fairly quiet in most of the previous meetings. He generally can be found in the front row, right side, and is often sipping on vitamin-laced pomegranate juice stored in his Eddie Bauer fanny pack. He stands up amidst all the chaos and subgrouping and addresses the committee. "It seems the answer here is simple. What is the biggest motivator, the focal point for any clydesdale?" "Calories" the crowd shouts back. Peter says, "Correctomundo! So given that, how 'bout we put a food station BEHIND the starting line. We pack that table with Twinkies, donuts, cream puffs, ice cream, whip cream....the "clydes" will never leave that spot". Mark, who can't be readily seen because he is in a Ichiro-esque squat position, feet pointed outwards in a nearly 180 degree angle, a maneuver designed to stretch the abs, quads, and iliotibial band, screams "Brilliant idea. Give that man a Nobel Peace Prize!".

Ben yells from his seat "Let's wrap this up. I have a meeting at the top of the Space Needle and I'm taking the stairs. Do I hear a motion?" "So moved" says Herm. Then HMO, after the vote, hits the table with the gavel, and says "Meeting adjourned."

Then I usually wake up and can't sleep.