The email came today, the one with the link to the race photos I will not be buying.

Instead I’ll take the image I have in my head of me running. Thank you. There I am, all svelte and speedy, with my toned arms, and shorts that wouldn’t even think about bunching up in my crotch.

In reality, there could be a race photographer every 100 feet of the course, and I could be paced by a team of my own, personal make-up and hair artists, and someone who Photoshops like a boss, and still no one will ever capture the me on film that’s the same as the me in my head.

Every runner I know has a story about an indelicate moment involving bodily functions. This is mine.

It’s not too terribly gross. Safe enough if you happen to be reading this at work – unless you spit coffee on your laptop minutes before you were supposed to forward some report, and then you’ll be mad at me for blowing your cover as a slacker.

You absolutely may not pin your slackerliness on me.

But if that’s not a problem, read on.

It was raining this weekend when Mike and I set out for our latest half marathon. This one was through wine country on weaving country roads. We had a hard time finding the starting line.

The few other times Mike and I had tried to make our way out to this winery, we’d taken wrong turns and ended up lost in wide open space where they pin down the scenery with a house every couple of miles or so. Those other forays were before GPS. This time we thought we were good.

I was thinking about my blog on running terminology, and realized there are items and events in the sport of running for which there are, as yet, no real words.

With a nod to Rich Hall and the stuff we watched before John Stewart, I have generated the following glossary of more running terminology to help runners, and those who love them (or would like to have a special language with which to make fun of them), convey all that heretofore remained unsaid for no other reason than we lacked the means of expression.

Glidegrief: The realization, well into your run, that you forgot to use the anti-chaffing stick that’s melting in your car right at this moment, and you’re going to be walking funny and screaming in every shower for the next few days as a result.

Mike and I are signed up for our next half marathon in two weeks. Then we have another race three weeks after that. Events are a good way for me to keep from flaking out on working out, and make me seem way more badass than I really am.

On Sunday we took our last long run before the event. That’s how this thing works: Train your guts out for months, hope you don’t injure yourself while you build up distance, add in some speed work and hills to make things interesting. Then the last two weeks take things easy, save energy for the event, and pretend you’re all grouchy because you’re consciously avoiding overtaxing yourself.

Since taking up this distance as my thing a few years ago, I’ve found that many of the folks who make up this group are determined, disciplined, sober, and focused. They rarely whine, and never ever smell like body odor, urine, or Bengay.

Then there are those of us outside the pages of Runner’s World.