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"

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

An epic battle brews...

I got this from a friend the other day, via email:


Here's the bet: Me versus Ian, Flying Monkey Marathon.  Here's the gag: the winner of the bet will be the last person to cross the finish line.  Can I do it?  Can I win the bet?

3 comments:

  1. Umm. No you can't.

    Signed,

    Monkey Boy

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  2. Let's see... one of us is doing speedwork as part of training, and the other one is going to physical therapy. Advantage: ME.

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