An email arrived in my inbox Sunday morning... Yep, 21 November, two weeks after New York, I will be at the start line of another marathon. Registration for the Flying Monkey closed in a record 32 minutes and I just barely eked my way in. If training doesn't kill me, this race just might.
(Also, if you're curious about the race organizer, he blogs photos of his son in dangerous situations. Enjoy it and share it with your friends and loved ones - his blog has appeal for those amongst us who love cute pictures of children and those who secretly wish they could put children in the oven.)
The email's pretty funny. Let's hope I'm still laughing on the 22nd of November.
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"