I tried posting one line on Facebook but the Apple computer, clearly
the cutting edge of what is available here in Huntsville, will not let
me. Each web page takes several minutes to load. Even in this post,
I have no access to formatting functions.
I did finish the 50 miler and I did not enjoy it. I want to first-off
assure you that this has nothing to do with anything that was
controllable by the race director- this was one of the best run events
I've ever attended. Well-organized, friendly enthusiastic volunteers,
e.g., Could I please have one of those ham sandwiches but without the
ham on it?
Why, sure, hunney! (they say it like that, too, "hunney" in a really sympathetic voice) Are you
saying you want a cheese sandwich?
Yes, please, you say, in your tiny, pained, pathetic voice.
I will tell you that at mile 38 the cheese sandwich you have with
cheap white bread and cheap american processed cheese slices is the
best cheese sandwich you will ever have. EVAR.
I will also tell you that having an old man grab your ass at mile 44
as your bent over tying your shoes is kind-of a pick-me-up.
But back to the race - they had no way of controlling that it would be
the 2nd hottest race they've ever had, or the roots sticking out of
the ground every 1-2 feet.
But more on that later. Right now, I'm headed back to the hotel room
with a Schlotsky's pizza, cup of soup, and salad � I'm driving, as
Baboo cannot move right now. He has decided the 100-miler isn't for
him, either. Of course, he's said that before.
I, though, mean it. I didn't enjoy one second of this. I kept
waiting for the spiritual gifts that are much pain - there weren't
any. The scenery was nice but you spent most of time looking down so
you didn't trip. All I know is that the last 16 miles of this race
were the singularlyly most paintful hours I have ever spend - and I
had three, large, round-headed babies by vaginal delivery, too.
More later...
ham on it?
Why, sure, hunney! (they say it like that, too, "hunney" in a really sympathetic voice) Are you
saying you want a cheese sandwich?
Yes, please, you say, in your tiny, pained, pathetic voice.
I will tell you that at mile 38 the cheese sandwich you have with
cheap white bread and cheap american processed cheese slices is the
best cheese sandwich you will ever have. EVAR.
I will also tell you that having an old man grab your ass at mile 44
as your bent over tying your shoes is kind-of a pick-me-up.
But back to the race - they had no way of controlling that it would be
the 2nd hottest race they've ever had, or the roots sticking out of
the ground every 1-2 feet.
But more on that later. Right now, I'm headed back to the hotel room
with a Schlotsky's pizza, cup of soup, and salad � I'm driving, as
Baboo cannot move right now. He has decided the 100-miler isn't for
him, either. Of course, he's said that before.
I, though, mean it. I didn't enjoy one second of this. I kept
waiting for the spiritual gifts that are much pain - there weren't
any. The scenery was nice but you spent most of time looking down so
you didn't trip. All I know is that the last 16 miles of this race
were the singularlyly most paintful hours I have ever spend - and I
had three, large, round-headed babies by vaginal delivery, too.
More later...
