Scary Beet Feet
What happens, when you run a marathon, is that you start out, fresh as a daisy. A daisy in running shoes. And a singlet. Usually early in the morning, because at that hour you can't give proper thought to just how long you're going to have to be running. The early start also helps if it takes you an inordinately long amount of time to run the 26 point 2 miles.
Somewhere after the quick first burst you get at the gates, you have to come to a complete stop, as you wait for all the other runners to get going. This is usually well before you even pass the start line. Unless you're running the marathon on your own. Which I can't imagine is a whole lot of fun. Well... okay, no, let's not get into that at the moment.
Once you get going, and you find your rhythm, time slows, your perception of your surroundings slows. You've suddenly become one half of the couple, running towards each other, across the grassy field with soft focus on the tall grasses and disintegrating dandelions, gentle music in the background, growing to a crescendo as you near each other, and twirl! Only substitute, if you will, the twirl with your lover for the sneaking feeling that something is awry.
You do a quick check: Hair, flowing in the wind. Nose, dripping, somewhat. Mouth, raw and you may be drooling, though it's tough to tell. Neck... fine... does the neck do anything when you're running? Maybe it bobs. Oh God, maybe your neck is bobbing and you look like a turkey, running a marathon in fancy sneakers. So you stiffen your neck a little, which actually hurts. So you stop that and revert back to possibly looking like a chicken. Let's see... what else... there's still something else, once the pain in your neck subsides. Your lungs kind of burn, but that's not it. The stitch in your... lungs? Stomach? Side? Well, that hurts a bit, but it's not it.
No, keep going, past the ache in your knees, past your shin splints from doing all your training on the treadmill and that rubber indoor track at the gym. And you end up at your feet. Which are throbbing so much you begin to realize that there is just as good a chance that you're being propelled forward by each pulse of the blood in your swelling feet as you are by the more traditional form of running in which you consciously lift one leg after the other, pounding your feet to the pavement again and again.
And this is where we found you, sitting at mile marker 3/4, with your shoes off, feet throbbing, red, and naked. I told you running a marathon was a crazy idea.
disclaimer:
This is pure fiction. But with a moral. Which is: Stop running so damn much.
It'll only end in sore feet and tears. And you'll be tired at the end.
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