I remember many years ago approaching an aid station for the first time during a race. I'd never tried drinking on the run before, as I usually sat for my meals. I hadn't really thought that there would be any difficulty with this undertaking. Guess again, liquid refreshment face.

After I lost the handle on seven consecutive cups and just about rip the arm off of two volunteers handing out drinks as I incorrectly gauge my grab, I soon realize there's more here than meets the mouth.

I finally hold onto a cup and proceed to take an unintentional and quick shower with a punch-flavored sport drink. As my singlet became stained in red liquid, I am now equal parts sweat and fruit cologne.

I quickly surmise that sometimes things are more difficult than they seem. This is clearly apparent as I now gaze into my paper cup and note the solitary drop of drink that remained. It appears to now be mocking me and indicating, "Buddy, you just spilt the rest of me over your shorts and up your nose and I'm all you got left for the next two miles. Don't blow it."

I now conclude that, along with putting distance, speed, stretching, and nutrition into my training regime, I would also have to leave ample time for imbibing practice.

To be able to delicately grab a cup of fluid at racing speed and gracefully empty the contents in your mouth is pretty much an athletic event in and of itself. Most of the time the drink goes in every available orifice but my mouth. After a race, I often have to explain to my wife why my ears have a lemon colored liquid dripping out of them.

Needless to say, it's not the most comforting feeling as you try to fight off glycogen depletion at mile 20 and find that most of your electrolyte replacement drink just went into your eyes.

It always amazes me how I could move the cup's contents quickly toward my lips and then have it often miss my face completely. The runner alongside me is never the least bit amused about having four ounces of energy drink running off his forehead courtesy of my inability to hit the moving target otherwise know as my mouth.

I figure with practice that I can get better. My neighbors undoubtedly question my family's sanity as I strategically position my wife and young children in the driveway, all holding paper cups for me as I run back and forth and back and forth.

I could only hope that others believe we are engaged in some type of high-tech research experiment. Perhaps testing the body's ability to rapidly assimilate different levels of complex versus simple carbohydrates and the yo-yo effect of blood sugars. Unfortunately, I'm sure they are thinking dodo and not yo-yo.

I eventually uncover that the key is to squeeze the top of the cup in half, pour it into the mouth as quickly as possible, hold it there, get your bearings, straighten up the esophagus and then give it a quick hard swallow. At first I can't hold it long enough to gulp before it finds its way up my nostrils. Thankfully, I improved with due diligence and late night training cup sessions with my family in the basement.

I just know as soon as I perfect the art of aid station drink consumption that they're going to go to sippie cups. But you can't stop imbibing progress.