But first, a bit of history.
The subject line quotation belongs to Patrick Henry, who delivered a riveting speech to arouse a bunch of guys wearing bathrobes and wigs. In doing so, he gave most of them big boners and convinced them to send a few thousand American troops into battle against the Redcoats. Historians credit Henry's speech with swinging the war -- and a bunch of married men -- to the other side. Notice the imminent cheek smooching and HJ's set to occur in the portrait below.
Liberty still rings true in Pittsburgh, as the marathon starts at Liberty and 6th. Imagine yourself standing there on the street, about to crap your pants out of fear for the pain you're about to endure over the better part of three hours. Look around you. There's a 5'11'' 55-year old bald guy wearing old-school style basketball glasses who can't weigh more than 150 pounds. He's wearing shorts that are too sizes to small for him, and when he catches you looking at him during his crotch stretch, he turns to you and quotes Sam's favorite movie line of all time: "C'mon Meat. Bring that weak-ass shit." He then proceeds to point a scaly finger right in your face, so you can be sure that he's indeed addressing you.
You don't know what to do. Already stunned by the sudden realization that you haven't run a tempo run or long run in over three years, you now feel your manhood threatened by the master's runner -- a spitting image of a shorter, whiter, nerdier Kareem Abdul-Jabbar -- next to you. You may be in for a long day.
Some girl credited with finally putting Ben Roethlisberger in jail sings the National Anthem. The marathon director talks about how he couldn't have asked for a better day weather-wise. Shit. No excuses there.
Before you know it, the gun goes off, and despite the fact that you're running 5:30 pace, middle-aged women are passing you from all directions. Your two amigos are at your side, both of them thankfully making it back to the starting line in time for the gun after a long wait for the Porta-potties. Everyone high-fives in lieu of the time-honored yet time-wasting tradition of crossing streams.
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The first 2.1 miles of the course follow Liberty Ave. This is a good opportunity to turn your brain off and assimilate to the pace of the pack. God knows you'll need your frontal lobes to be firing at full capacity later when you're willing your legs to move over the last four miles of the course.
The elevation change is imperceptible; this stretch is essentially a layup. So take a load off, cowboy. There are rougher patches of pasture ahead.
good work, Sam - you forgot to mention how ashamedly hungover we'll all be
ReplyDeleteLook at Sammy, workin' blue. Halfway through reading I expected a "chode" or "douche" drop.
ReplyDeleteI feel my mask of sanity begin to slip
ReplyDeleteEveryone knows Patrick Henry's nickname, Oliver: Doucherick Chodery. I just didn't feel it was appropriate to include it in this otherwise G-rated post.
ReplyDelete