An Ode to Advil

Ah, the salad days of my youth, when I could run all day, party all night, and go straight to work the next morning without a care in the world.

Now I’m an old fart, who goes to bed each night wondering what kind of ache and pain I will wake up with in the morning. Sore shoulder? Tweaked back? Calf cramp? Pulled muscle? It’s agony roulette, but whatever number comes up, I still lose.

Training runs that used to begin with a deep breath of fresh air, now start with the question: “What the hell is wrong with my __________?” (Fill in the blank with knee, ankle, shins, quads, hamstrings, et al.)

But all is not gloom and doom. As I gingerly make my way back home after a long run or speedwork, I know a little green genie is waiting to grant my wishes for pain relief.

Oh, Advil Liqui-Gels, your 200mg of solubilized ibuprofen whisk away my cares and restore my creaking joints to relative normalcy. Not since Jack traded his cow for some magic beans have such little tablets brought so much comfort. Along with sugar and caffeine, you comprise the master runner food pyramid. While younger runners look to better shoes, vitamins, hydration, altitude training, etc., for improvement, I look to you, Advil, to get me to the next starting line.

When old age shall this generation waste, thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say’st, “I’m all Advil, are you all Advil?” That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.