Lip service

Today, I race as though my life depends on it.

Maybe not my “life,” per se, but more like my “professional dignity.”

All through November, some guys at work have been recognizing “No Shave November,” and since I look for any excuse to avoid shaving, I took part. Most of these guys are in their early-to-mid-20s, so they don’t have to deal with the white hairs in their beards like I do, but I also don’t have to deal with the peach fuzz like they do. Call it a draw.

An artist’s rendering of a possible mustacahe choice.

Today, though, November ends, and in honor, someone had the bright idea to hold a series of one-on-one foot races, with the loser having to keep a mustache (or moustache for my British readers) for two weeks. We have supposedly been paired according to ability, but since none of them have ever seen me actually run, I’m guessing this has more to do with judgment calls than anything else.

No matter. The races have been scheduled, the gauntlets have been thrown.

And since I have to appear on TV far more often than the average mustachioed co-worker, I have quite a bit on the line with this race.

A full update (with pictures, I hope) will be provided later, particularly if the mustache has to stay. In the meantime, I would appreciate all the encouragement I can get in this race.

Feet don’t fail me now.


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