Some people run when they’re being chased, crossing a busy street, or trying to get out of the rain; others run because they actually enjoy it. I’m one of those guys. But my last marathon was a little bit different. I barely got any sleep the night before, and I wasn’t feeling so hot as I pounded out the first several miles—but I’ve never stopped mid-way through a race, and I didn’t want to miss out on all the fun. Let’s just say my stomach had different intentions, and the carb-loading I'd done the night before ended up all along the side of the road. Not once, not twice, but six different times. (I’ve never been so grateful to see a port-a-potty.) However, I did finish the race.
What really cracked me up was the face of this lady that I kept passing. She was never close enough to actually see me exit the course, yet each time I stopped to spew she’d pass by. Then I’d get back on the road and catch up to her again. She was absolutely bewildered watching me disappear around the corner in front of her, and then a few minutes later pass her again, and again, and again. Poor lady must have thought the miles were going to her head...
