For years now, I have had a sneaking suspicion that the majority of the people who read my no running column are indeed runners. And if this is true, then a good portion of you probably feel that non runners like me can make some pretty silly decisions from time to time.

Though I, personally, am convinced that my rigorous training schedule is just what I need to maintain my studly physique, I have to confess that even my own doctor tells me to stop drinking a pitcher of Guinness and eating rare steak every meal. And we're talking about a person who gets paid good money to put on rubber gloves and poke around my most variously unattractive parts, or as I call it, from ear to paternity.

But, as long as we are coming clean, I guess I can tell you that there have been a few times when I have seen my non runner buddies do something foolish, if well-intentioned.

I know when it came time to pull those 20 stitches out of Jimmy's back; we debated whether it was worth it for him to go back to the hospital like they told him. Although admittedly, we debated much longer three weeks earlier about whether to take him to the hospital right away or wait till after last call. Never mind the fact that I still say to this day that the table he was dancing on was inherently wobbly to begin with. In the end, he spent the money on "anesthetic" at the comedy club, and we took turns removing stitches in the greenroom.

Likewise, I still ca not figure out what was wrong with our clever plan to pick up a couple of lovely women at an Italian restaurant that time. We're comedians and writers. So we can't just use the old cliche of sending over two drinks, right? We wanted to show that we were sexy and creative. So we thought we would send over food. Of course, since it was an expensive joint, we opted for something cheap.

When the waiter delivered the two dinner salads to the ladies' table, we gave them the old eyebrow wiggle and a couple of winks. Maybe we even did the little pistol with your hand motion. All I know for sure is that not one, but both of them felt obliged to come scream at us that they were NOT FAT!

In hindsight, the time with the rental car in Florida, we just were not paying attention. It is not that we had been drinking that much, because it was early. It is just that the three of us were having a really good time when these women asked us to follow them to another bar. I guess we should have seen the first red flag, because there was a brief discussion about whether we had forgotten to lock the car. It really was not until we came out of the second nightclub and could not figure out whose jacket and briefcase was in the back seat that it really dawned on us that we would drive off in the wrong vehicle. Much like it was not until we pulled into the far edge of the parking lot of the first bar we had been to and saw the three cops that we realized that, if you want to get really nitpicky and technical, we had stolen a car. Anyway, I am sure they found it eventually.

Now, Stevie and the all-you-can-eat sushi buffet incident were clearly goofy from the start. The rules stated unequivocally that if you did not eat the rice that came underneath the fish, then you would be charged by the piece. And here was Steve pounding down tuna and yellowtail by the handful while rice piled up on his plate.

"You're going to get caught, man," we warned.

"Hey, I do this all the time. I have a system."

At that point, Stevie, an ostensibly grown man, picked up all the sticky rice from his plate and stuck it into his pockets.

"See? Now I go flush it down the toilet." And with that, he excused himself.

The real punch line to the story did not happen until he stopped on his walk back home to buy a couple of magazines. I think you can imagine the look on the clerk's face when some round, balding dude with a heavy Brooklyn accent hands him a five that is encrusted with Uncle Ben's. On the other hand, he got two free magazines.

So maybe we non runners do have the rare lapse in sound judgment. But the important thing is that we are nonetheless committed to our happy lifestyles. And when someone compliments our six-packs, we can offer them one of 'em.

Stupid Things Runners Do