Saturday, February 14, 2009

What did you do on Valentine's Day?

Oh, me? I ran 7 miles and along the way visited two historic cemeteries and helped a lost hooker find her John.

Babies, I can't make this stuff up.

It all started innocently enough with Map My Run. I plotted out a 7 mile trek starting at my favorite park. I knew there was a historic cemetery along the way, so I planned on making a pit-stop to check it out.

Please note: I AM A HUGE HISTORY NERD. I read that Abraham Lincoln's paternal grandfather was buried there, and also the foundation of one of Kentucky's oldest churches still stands in the cemetery. NERD ALERT NERD ALERT.

The cemetery was tucked away off the lightly traveled country road:

I read that the cemetery had been used since the 1700's, and that the majority of people buried there no longer have headstones marking their graves. This became very apparent the moment I stepped in the cemetery: my feet sunk with each step. I audibly "Eeeeeek"ed the entire time.

It was very creepy...and very neat:

Fancy headstone...I was too creeped out to look for what it was pointing at.

Honest Abe's Grandpappy. His farm used to be where the cemetery is now. He was killed by Indians "in stealth" according to Lincoln (the president's) account recorded on the plaque. Harry S. Truman's great-uncle is buried there also. Raaaaaandom.

Two graves with a wooden sign in between them. I think it said "Stop taketh pictures on ye olde Blackberry."

Old church foundation.

With my thirst for nerdy momentarily quenched, I pressed on. There was ANOTHER historic cemetery at my turn-around point, so I had that to look forward too. However, when I got there I neglected to take any pictures because...well, it wasn't that interesting.

As I was climbing a nightmarish hill, a woman that I took to be a prostitute pulled up next to me in her Trans-Am and asked me where the park was. I know, I know...I shouldn't make snap judgements...she just had that vibe...and when I saw her again she was in some guy's truck, parked in a hidden-away corner of the park. My hooker radar was going nuts!

When I got back to my car and was ready to leave, the Hooker and the John bid farewell while his truck blocked me in so I couldn't leave my parking space. Yeesh! I help a hooker on Valentine's Day and this is the thanks I get? Never again!

The best part (or creepiest part) about my Valentine's Day run was that the actual distance from my parking spot to the cemeteries and back was 6.66 miles.

I can't make this up.

I happily tacked on the .33 to get my 7 miles in AND to avoid demonic possession.

Happy Valentine's Day!


  1. I want that on my tombstone...only I want a sports-foam finger instead.