I know, Reader, that at this point you want to stop reading temporarily so you can rush down to the comments area to be the FIRST!1! to congratulate me on my awesomosity and then come back up here and look for what you really swung by to see, which is how many mentions my n*ts@ck gets in this post (zero1); or if I say anything about Teh 'Bride; or mention a visit with Teh 'Dad; or post pix of Ian. You know: the good stuff.
But just hold on, hold on one tiny motherfucking minute, there, Reader, because if you do that and then come back up here to read the rest of this post, you're probably gonna wanna delete that comment for being premature[-cum-ejaculation], because here's the rest of the story, all relevant facts included:
I PR'd at this so-called "5k" because it wasn't a 5k. That's right. It was actually 3.3 miles long instead of the standard 3.1. and therefore it's a PR at whatever k 3.3 miles is the equivalent of.
And here's how that happened (short version): They made the course too long.
Now the long version:
The race was sponsored by the wrestling team at the local High School and Teh 'Bride spotted it advertised in our local county rag2 and cut the announcement out and gave it to me. Now, I like to take every opportunity that
Okay, that's pretty defamatory and patently and demonstrably false. Because right after I finished the race, I heard one of the Wrestling kids who was doing the timing say to another runner, "Yeah, it's actually a little longer than 5k. It's more like 3.3 miles."
So they knew it was long. Which, hey, okay, I mean, your race, your rules, right? Even though there were any number of places they could easily have cut out that extra two-tenths of a mile. E.g., the starting line was about a quarter of the way around a baseball/soccer field (it was a trail race in a state park); if they'd just moved the starting line up a few hundred feet — eminently doable, by the way — there's your two-tenths' of fat trimmed off right there, easy-peasy. What kinda pisses me off, though, is the fact that the could have told us it was long at the beginning, but decided instead to make it a surprise; even more inexcusable, they outright lied about the length5, and here's the relevant part of the pdf file's course description to prove it:
Because here's the thing: I friggin' hate trail runs, but I evidently hate myself a lot more because I seem to find myself running a lot of them lately and I seem not to be allowing the fact that I know beforehand that these races are going to be on trails prevent me from signing up for them. So I had girded my loins6 for 3.1 miles, and that was it. So when the mile 3 marker rolled around, I had just about enough left in the tank to go that last 10th of a mile and no more.
But there it is, the 3-mile marker, and even though I'm still in the woods and on a trail, I'm thinking the finish line is just up ahead and I'll be seeing it after the next few strides. But then I don't. And I don't. And I don't.
And I'm getting kinda pissed here, because the last part of the trail before the 3-mile marker was such a gut-busting uphill climb that I thought I was running up Teh Schmatterhorn, which, for those of you who don't know, is a local killer hill I used to run up to challenge myself until it gave me tendinitis in my knee — or what you ultra foax would probably just call "a gentle, rolling hill". Because in that last part, I was huffing and puffing the way I do when I try to run up Teh Schmatterhorn; and my legs were doing those running-like movements even though it seemed like I was going at a walking pace, just as it feels when I try to run up Teh Schmatterhorn; and my lungs and my heart and my head, not to mention my whoo-wery loins, were screaming at me to stop running, but I gutted my way through to the top.
And there I saw that 3-mile marker; and I thought, "I did it. I really wanted to stop, but I didn't, and now just one little 10th of a mile and I'm done. I can stop running."
And then the fuckers hit me with those extra two-tenths. After running up the equivalent of Teh Schmatterhorn! It actually felt more like an extra half-mile, too. And this isn't the first time one of our local schools fucked me like this. Because about 18 months ago, I ran a "5k" sponsored by the local elementary school and was amazed to see that it was the slowest one by far that I had ever run, taking me over thirty minutes. When I got home, I measured the route on MapMyRun only to find — yeah — it was actually 3.6 miles long. A similar thing happened the first time I ran the Middle School's 5k ... but those extra 10ths-of-a-mile were run because the course was poorly marked. I ran the Middle School's 5k again this year, and they did a much better job of it, hiring professional race-organizers and scorekeepers this year.
I really hope the HS does a better job of it next year because the park where this race was held is really beautiful and the course takes you through some of the most picturesque parts.
There was no clock at the race; when I crossed the finish line, nobody told me my time; the HS apparently has no intention of posting the results, because I've checked their web site numerous time, the last time being roughly 30 seconds ago. So:
Number of Runners: ?
What Number I finished as: ?
Number of people in my Age Group: ?
My rank in my Age Group: ?
My official time: ? (Unofficially, by my watch, it took me 28 minutes, which is something like an 8:34 pace)
Some of this missing information may have been announced after the race, for all I know, but when 11:00 rolled around (the race began at 10) and there were still no signs that they were anywhere near announcing results, I just left, a bitter, defeated geezer with whoo-wery loins.
1 That's right — ZERO. Because that seeming-mention of it supra doesn't count because it's more a meta-mention than an actual one. I.e., it is n*ts@ck-qua1a-typical-Glaven-topic not n*ts@ck-qua-n*ts@ck. And so yeah, those two mentions of my n*ts@ck back there don't count, either, for the same reason; and the same goes for the mention of it in this here sentence.
1a Originally? I mistakenly wrote "n*ts@ck-cum-n*ts@ck", but immediately realized "cum" was the wrong word, its proximity to my n*ts@ck notwithstanding; but I nearly left it that way because, although wrong, it seemed so right.
2 That's a fucking lie right there. It wasn't advertised in the local rag. There was an actual article about it, because in these parts? A HS-sponsored 5k race qualifies as news.
3 Hmmm ... It occurs to me that a certain someone may get smart at some point and take that photo down from the Intertubes. It is my go-to photo for cheap tranny-based larfs, so I think it is high time I stole it and reproduced here just in case she does get smart:
Hey, I know it's not exactly some dude with his balls in another dude's face, but still, you gotta admit ... pretty gay. (NTTAWWT3a)
3a = "Not That There's Anything Wrong With That".
4 Or, "one Glaven penis".
5 Okay, in the interest of consistency on this issue of lying, I feel it is encumbent upon me to admit that my penis is not actually 3.3. miles long. It's 3.3 kilometers.
That's right. My penis is Kanadian.
6 And I didn't even have to buy my loins dinner first, before girding them, because my loins are whoo-wers!1! O, loins! You'd let pretty much anyone gird you, wouldn't you?