Sunday, April 22, 2007
Impossible is hilarious
I just returned from my race, and am patting myself on the back for finishing in 43:09. Considering that my training the past couple weeks has consisted of sitting on my ass, drinking lots of Heineken, watching "Deadliest Catch" reruns, and occasionally going for a jog, I'm not at all ashamed of averaging 10:47 a mile. In spite of my "Sabado Gigante" hangover-related concerns that this race would be gigantically bad, I perked up once I got to the park and picked up my number and ChampionChip, because today is a beautiful spring day. The sky is blue, the sun is blazing, the humidity is low, the cherry and magnolia trees are blooming, there was a larger-than-life size decal of Reggie (Get in my) Bush on the side of the "Impossible is Nothing" Adidas promotional trailer, and I stole a banana meant for the kids finishing their 1K fun run. I have to say that so far, it was a good day. I walked over to the starting area to finish the pilfered banana, stretch, and do a little people watching.
This race is the first event I've actually participated in. I joined the New York Road Runners because you have to in order to get into the marathon in the fall, which I intend to do. Even though I have to brave the lottery or raise money for charity to get into the marathon this year, if I run nine races this year I'll have guaranteed entry for the 2008 marathon. I figure that's a reasonable training regimen, so I plan to run eight more of these bad boys before year's end. I realized after today, though, that I am going to have to prepare myself for the ridiculousness I will be confronted with at each of these competitions.
The world of runners is an absurd social scene populated by a variety of characters. Being that I was alone at this event, I was not distracted from observing the cavalcade of runner-types parading past, and noted that there are several distinct categories that runners can be lumped into:
The self-proclaimed running elite: they might still run a ten minute mile, but that doesn't stop these people from thinking they are one race away from the Olympics. They usually have some type of high-tech running outfit on, which is covered with unnecessary vents and probably has a sponsor's logo on it. They wear those ugly Lance Armstrong Oakley sunglasses and do a lot of complicated stretching and bouncing around to prepare for the race. They ask nearby strangers dumb questions like "When is the race going to start?", not because they don't know, but because they are creating an opportunity to regale the questioned with tales of previous race triumphs and provide unsolicited running tips.
Old people: old people always wear the free race t-shirt, even though it may be ill-fitting and wholly unflattering. They also often are sporting a fanny pack, and not a high tech runner's fanny pack, but the giant, old-school kind in some type of Hypercolor fluorescent hue. They run in packs and are aggravatingly slow.
Tech people: in spite of the fact that running requires one piece of equipment (shoes), there are people who buy all these accoutrements to ensure that all the comforts of home can run with them. They have all manner of arm-or-torso-based iPod holders, wallet caddies, and water bottle holders. I saw one dude doing jumping jacks wearing what looked like a cross between one of Schwarzenegger's Commando-era grenade strings and Batman's utility belt around his waist; when I looked closer, it turned out to be a secured water bottle carrier, complete with a COMPASS. I guess that's in case you get lost while running across the 72nd Street Park Transverse and have to get all Bear Grills to find your way back to the Upper West Side.
Desperate single people: I suppose the haters will try to fit me into this category, but it hadn't actually occurred to me that people would use these races to meet potential mates. I certainly don't want to try to mack it to some hot dude while panting and covered with sweat...in my world, the panting and sweating part usually comes after a candidate is taken in by my many crude charms. Nonetheless, there were a lot of chicks in well-thought-out running outfits, makeup, and jewelry, and there were even more dudes trying to spark up conversation in hopes of leading to a running partner. The dude who made the unfortunate decision to chat me up looked like a fat Frodo Baggins in a "Life is Good" shirt, and after I got away from him by pointing out a pile of horse shit in the road and moving away from it and him, he started chatting up this bitch who was at least sixty.
Couples: I assume these are former members of the above group, who were successful in finding a love interest with a NYRR membership, and who now enjoy dates running in races, rather than doing normal shit like eating steak, watching movies, and having dirty backdoor sex. This one couple was so lame they were trying to SHARE iPOD HEADPHONES WHILE THEY RAN.
Firemen: They weren't running in the race, but were ubiquitous along the race course, sitting around in their emergency vehicles watching people and waiting for a runner to keel over. I've spoken many times about the hotness of New York's Bravest, so when I ran past a fire truck at a water station later in the race, I threw a cup of water all over myself. I was wearing a white wife-beater and white unlined sports bra underneath, and from the shouts of encouragement from the boys of Ladder 12 or whatever, my nipples looked awesome.
Pathetic single women trying to feel accomplished: A while back, when I announced my marathon-running ambitions, some readers commented that, to paraphrase, I had sold out:
Fat people: There are obviously a lot of fat people who have realized that running is an efficient method of weight loss. This one group of heifers even had shirts made to commemorate their road running exercise regimen. The back of their shirts said, "Outta my way...I've got goals to achieve!", and they were asking people nearby to take a picture of all three of them from behind to showcase their matching shirts. I would think that the amount of cellulite hanging below the hemline of their appallingly abbreviated running shorts would be enough to motivate them when they take a look at that photograph. After the race started, I got stuck behind one of these cows as she lumbered gaspingly up a hill, and it was my turn to say, "Outta my way, I've got goals to achieve." One goal, for example, is finishing the race in less than five hours.
Business people: Despite the fact that it was Sunday morning, there was a slew of Wall Street-type dudes who were busy Blackberrying right up until the race started. Losers.
Track teams: There were these monstrous groups of teenagers wearing team gear running in packs and generally annoying me.
Underdressed old men: I saw at least fifty dudes who were inadvisably shirtless. These are the types who have strange bodies (skinny with a set of C-cup man-tits) and look like those gasping, emaciated dudes at the end of 28 Days Later who were dying of the rage virus in the middle of the street, covered with badly distributed body hair, and oozing a toxic film of sweat to splash on anyone unwise enough to attempt to pass them. I was contaminated at milepost 3, but fortunately there was a water stand there, so I was able to reenter the Central Park wet t-shirt contest and rid myself of nasty old man running funk at the same time.
Kids: These snotty little overachievers are too athletic for the "Kids Race," the purpose of which I thought was to segregate the children from people like myself who hate them. Apparently, kids can still run the adult race if they want to, and a lot did. I made sure I stepped on as many of their feet as possible. At the end of the race, I decided to take the advice of this random dude I boned a month ago who happens to be a runner. He suggested sprinting at the end of the race. I did, and as I passed a cluster of sweaty, miserable-looking kids, I told them to eat my dust. Suckers!
I can't wait until the next race event, when I get to do even more race culture anthropology, and will hopefully be clever enough to bring a camera to document the ridiculousness. You know these assholes are just going to get more obviously but unintentionally hilarious as the marathon gets closer.
This race is the first event I've actually participated in. I joined the New York Road Runners because you have to in order to get into the marathon in the fall, which I intend to do. Even though I have to brave the lottery or raise money for charity to get into the marathon this year, if I run nine races this year I'll have guaranteed entry for the 2008 marathon. I figure that's a reasonable training regimen, so I plan to run eight more of these bad boys before year's end. I realized after today, though, that I am going to have to prepare myself for the ridiculousness I will be confronted with at each of these competitions.
The world of runners is an absurd social scene populated by a variety of characters. Being that I was alone at this event, I was not distracted from observing the cavalcade of runner-types parading past, and noted that there are several distinct categories that runners can be lumped into:
The self-proclaimed running elite: they might still run a ten minute mile, but that doesn't stop these people from thinking they are one race away from the Olympics. They usually have some type of high-tech running outfit on, which is covered with unnecessary vents and probably has a sponsor's logo on it. They wear those ugly Lance Armstrong Oakley sunglasses and do a lot of complicated stretching and bouncing around to prepare for the race. They ask nearby strangers dumb questions like "When is the race going to start?", not because they don't know, but because they are creating an opportunity to regale the questioned with tales of previous race triumphs and provide unsolicited running tips.
Old people: old people always wear the free race t-shirt, even though it may be ill-fitting and wholly unflattering. They also often are sporting a fanny pack, and not a high tech runner's fanny pack, but the giant, old-school kind in some type of Hypercolor fluorescent hue. They run in packs and are aggravatingly slow.
Tech people: in spite of the fact that running requires one piece of equipment (shoes), there are people who buy all these accoutrements to ensure that all the comforts of home can run with them. They have all manner of arm-or-torso-based iPod holders, wallet caddies, and water bottle holders. I saw one dude doing jumping jacks wearing what looked like a cross between one of Schwarzenegger's Commando-era grenade strings and Batman's utility belt around his waist; when I looked closer, it turned out to be a secured water bottle carrier, complete with a COMPASS. I guess that's in case you get lost while running across the 72nd Street Park Transverse and have to get all Bear Grills to find your way back to the Upper West Side.
Desperate single people: I suppose the haters will try to fit me into this category, but it hadn't actually occurred to me that people would use these races to meet potential mates. I certainly don't want to try to mack it to some hot dude while panting and covered with sweat...in my world, the panting and sweating part usually comes after a candidate is taken in by my many crude charms. Nonetheless, there were a lot of chicks in well-thought-out running outfits, makeup, and jewelry, and there were even more dudes trying to spark up conversation in hopes of leading to a running partner. The dude who made the unfortunate decision to chat me up looked like a fat Frodo Baggins in a "Life is Good" shirt, and after I got away from him by pointing out a pile of horse shit in the road and moving away from it and him, he started chatting up this bitch who was at least sixty.
Couples: I assume these are former members of the above group, who were successful in finding a love interest with a NYRR membership, and who now enjoy dates running in races, rather than doing normal shit like eating steak, watching movies, and having dirty backdoor sex. This one couple was so lame they were trying to SHARE iPOD HEADPHONES WHILE THEY RAN.
Firemen: They weren't running in the race, but were ubiquitous along the race course, sitting around in their emergency vehicles watching people and waiting for a runner to keel over. I've spoken many times about the hotness of New York's Bravest, so when I ran past a fire truck at a water station later in the race, I threw a cup of water all over myself. I was wearing a white wife-beater and white unlined sports bra underneath, and from the shouts of encouragement from the boys of Ladder 12 or whatever, my nipples looked awesome.
Pathetic single women trying to feel accomplished: A while back, when I announced my marathon-running ambitions, some readers commented that, to paraphrase, I had sold out:
are you getting your botox before or after the race? razzy, don't you know that every fucking manhattan single woman above 28 caves to peer-pressure and runs the marathon? and these same women date older rich men with committment issues, rent in the hamptons, run up debt on fancy handbags, bi-weekly beauty salon visits, and talking to their shrinks.I'm running the marathon to QUIT SMOKING, people! This is not me, and I could write a fucking book about how wrong all these assertions are. However, there were a variety of women of this ilk there. Some of them were mingling with the "Desperate Single People" crowd, and others were busy bragging to anyone who would listen about all the races they've signed up for, their chances in the lottery, their injuries, etc. The worst was this ho decrying the nectar of the gods (AKA booze) because it was so much harder to train after a night of drinking. Well, try training after a night of drinking AND "Sabado Gigante", bitch...you'll be wrecked.
You have now officially an aging single Manhattan girl looking for something meaningful in her life to replace having a relationship. I used to think you were a fun loving free spirited grad student, now I know you are typical narcissistic Manhattan girl. Can I suggest a Post Doc at Cold Spring Harbor so you can move to long island with an older man and live in your "dream house."
Fat people: There are obviously a lot of fat people who have realized that running is an efficient method of weight loss. This one group of heifers even had shirts made to commemorate their road running exercise regimen. The back of their shirts said, "Outta my way...I've got goals to achieve!", and they were asking people nearby to take a picture of all three of them from behind to showcase their matching shirts. I would think that the amount of cellulite hanging below the hemline of their appallingly abbreviated running shorts would be enough to motivate them when they take a look at that photograph. After the race started, I got stuck behind one of these cows as she lumbered gaspingly up a hill, and it was my turn to say, "Outta my way, I've got goals to achieve." One goal, for example, is finishing the race in less than five hours.
Business people: Despite the fact that it was Sunday morning, there was a slew of Wall Street-type dudes who were busy Blackberrying right up until the race started. Losers.
Track teams: There were these monstrous groups of teenagers wearing team gear running in packs and generally annoying me.
Underdressed old men: I saw at least fifty dudes who were inadvisably shirtless. These are the types who have strange bodies (skinny with a set of C-cup man-tits) and look like those gasping, emaciated dudes at the end of 28 Days Later who were dying of the rage virus in the middle of the street, covered with badly distributed body hair, and oozing a toxic film of sweat to splash on anyone unwise enough to attempt to pass them. I was contaminated at milepost 3, but fortunately there was a water stand there, so I was able to reenter the Central Park wet t-shirt contest and rid myself of nasty old man running funk at the same time.
Kids: These snotty little overachievers are too athletic for the "Kids Race," the purpose of which I thought was to segregate the children from people like myself who hate them. Apparently, kids can still run the adult race if they want to, and a lot did. I made sure I stepped on as many of their feet as possible. At the end of the race, I decided to take the advice of this random dude I boned a month ago who happens to be a runner. He suggested sprinting at the end of the race. I did, and as I passed a cluster of sweaty, miserable-looking kids, I told them to eat my dust. Suckers!
I can't wait until the next race event, when I get to do even more race culture anthropology, and will hopefully be clever enough to bring a camera to document the ridiculousness. You know these assholes are just going to get more obviously but unintentionally hilarious as the marathon gets closer.
Labels: exercise drama, fat fucks, hilarious shit, NYC, Reggie (Get In My) Bush, ridiculous absurdity
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