ALBERTA, AL- Sara Stelvia is a working mom with 4 kids and her husband, Larry, is an accountant.
Sara likes to bake and sew. On the weekend, Sara does dishes, cleans the house, folds the laundry, vacuums the floors, tends to the flower beds, and nurtures the children.
Larry likes to runs long distances. On the weekend, Larry runs. After work, Larry runs. On vacations, Larry runs. When Sara and Larry go to dinner with friends, Larry talks about his run that morning.
Early Wednesday morning, trash day, something snapped inside of Sara. Mrs. Stelvia claims that she politely asked Larry to take out the trash and he responded with, “Can’t you just do it? Our driveway is the longest in the neighborhood and I don’t want to walk all the way down there and get all sweaty.”
Sara took an ice pick and crammed it in the middle of Larry’s “100-Mile Man” tattoo that he had inked on the back of his calf for when he attemps his first 100-miler this fall.
Sara told us, “That lazy bastard doesn’t do shit but run. He will run 35-miles at 4am but won’t roll the damn trash to the curb. This sorry sonofabitch will run through mountainous terrain for an entire morning and afternoon but says that yardwork upsets his allergies. This pathetic dirtbag has the fortitude to run at the same speed for 15-hours but says that folding laundry is too monotonous. Larry is a total queef; he deserved to get shanked.”
We caught up with Larry on his way out of the hospital. He responded by saying that “I feel really good about my mile time; it seems to be improving. I did really good at my shorter distances this year, I am especially happy with my vo2 Max at around the 5-8 mile mark and my heart rate has been pretty decent in the later stretches of the races….”
Larry asked if we wanted to see his medals.
I couldn’t help but stab Larry in the opposite calf.
