First run ultimately may prove to be Doomsday

Friday afternoon found me cruising up that dreaded lung-busting grade known as Doomsday Hill without losing a droplet of Doug sweat.

At the risk of deflating one of Bloomsday’s most beloved fairy tales, I don’t get what all the fuss is about.

True, I was sitting in the passenger seat of a taxi. But that was just part of the revolutionary “Mind Over Gravity” training method I adopted to prepare for today: my first-ever Bloomsday run.

The only other option to meet the challenge from former fatty Sean Spicer was to start injecting steroids.

After dropping a near quarter-ton via gastric surgery and exercise, the 39-year-old wants to kick my butt in a Bloomsday footrace. “You’re about the only person in old Spokaloo who can’t outrun me,” he taunted via e-mail last week.

I’ll be honest. Agreeing to battle Spicer on such short notice has been looking more and more like a brain cramp.

The guy’s become a gym rat since shedding the flab. The last serious cardio work I did was two weeks ago. I leapt off the sofa and made this mad sprint for a piece of cheesecake.

But I’m more confident now that I have The Almighty on my side.

You’d think it would be harder to persuade a priest to help in something like this.

But Padre John Mossi responded quickly to my cry for help.

“Clark dying in a running suit? Even Italian operas aren’t that tragic,” he noted.

I figured Mossi would lean toward exorcism. But after lunch at Gonzaga University’s Jesuit House, he led me to a small chapel and read aloud from the Book of Blessings.

You’ve gotta hand it to these Catholics. They have everything covered.

This book contains not only blessings for the sick and the afflicted, but blessings for a new library and even blessings for boats and fishing gear.

Mossi found what I needed in Chapter 29: Order for the Blessing of an Athletic Event.

As he spoke I felt my spirit quicken. “Strong and faithful God, as we come together for this contest we ask you to bless these athletes …”

Damn. I had hoped for something a tad more partisan. You know, like “Oh, Lord of Love. Swat the evil Spicer like fruit fly. Swat that sorry fool RIGHT NOW!”

Guess I should have called Jerry Falwell.

The padre gave me a nickel-size medallion bearing the figure of an angel on one side. I was deeply touched as he handed me the silver coin with orders not to stick it into a parking meter.

It’s like he can see right into my dark soul.

Not to be outdone, the Rev. Michael Moynahan gave me a shamrock pin for luck and some supplemental reading:

“The Tortoise and the Hare.”

Buoyed by a renewed sense of self-delusion, I set out to conquer the 7.46-mile Bloomsday course – by bus.

Hey, I didn’t want to risk overtraining. So I hopped on the No. 20 Driscoll outbound from the downtown plaza.

The route closely follows the first half of Bloomsday, meandering west through Peaceful Valley and past Spokane Falls Community College.

A short jaunt later, however, Spokane Transit Authority has a glaring Bloomsday gap. No buses roll up that long drive known as Doomsday Hill.

This left me little choice. I got off at the T.J. Meenach Bridge and called a cab.

If only the city ran as well as the Spokane Cab company. A driver arrived minutes later. Then, zipping up Doomsday, he told me about the time he got called to an apartment and a woman wearing only the top half of a green negligee opened the door.

Who says you can’t raise your heart rate riding in a cab?

He dropped me off near the West Central Community Center where I waited for the No. 21 West Broadway. Despite a 13-minute layover, the 21 took me across the Bloomsday courthouse finish line just 56 minutes after I began.

Spicer should be shivering in his running shoes.

Shave off those wasted 13 minutes and I’m closing in on Kenyan time.