A Fatty's Take on Races

Fat Rock here. As you know, my wife is a runner. I have been to several of her races as a spectator, and once as a competitor. I have a tremendous amount of respect for my wife for doing the "running thing". I cannot. I am not a runner. This was made plain when I ran in the "Dook U. Run for the Lemurs 5k", which was a charity run for the Dook Primate Center. "You'll have a great time," said my fit, in-shape runner girlfriend(at the time), "this is totally a low pressure run, and you'll do great!" Since I was love-struck and stupid, I went for it. It was hot, and there was like 100% humidity and then there were plagues of locusts, and lightening and an earthquake because I had upset the balance of the universe by attempting to jiggle my happy ass for 5 kilometers in under 30 minutes. (Note: 30 mins was the time Lemur Queen said I should shoot for, since it was a "slow easy pace for a beginner") I may have a prejudiced viewpoint, but I digress. I was out of breath by the first hill. Lemur Queen wanted to RUN the whole time, while I could only run when I was going downhill. Long story short, I finished 4th from last. I beat out a massive MASSIVE obese black guy, and a pregnant woman in her third trimester. Oh, and I beat the Lemur Queen, because she was behind me......pushing me forward.



So I never competed in a race again. The only time I run now if to and from the buffet.



Anyways, I do go and support/cheer/hoot like an idiot when my wife races. Why? I enjoy supporting her and her interests. I mean, crap, she has actually agreed to go to DragonCON with me this year. And that's like Nerdapalooza. But at least she'll get an opportunity to freak watch, just like I do at her races. I love me some people watching. When we lived in the Capital City, there was this creepy guy that wore 70's shorty shorts with a mountain scene painted on them. To every race. And he never wore a shirt. To every race. And he was hairy like the love child of Robin Williams and Chewbacca. To every race.



But the races down here are still fun to watch. You have your SERIOUS runners, the ones in all matchy running outfits who are either crazy thin or really muscular, vigorously checking their pulses on their necks while bobbing in place. Then you have runners. Lemur Queen falls in this category. She has running clothes, is in good shape, and runs regularly. Not all matchy-matchy, but clothes that are dedicated to running. Then you have the "runners". You know the ones. My kind of peoples. Team Fatty. Jiggles McBee and his dancing Juggernauts. You know. I don't condemn these people, I applaud them. They're doing their best to improve themselves. They are, however, wearing ripped up sweats and a T-shirt from something completely inappropriate (Big D's Bar-B-Q, for example) or they're wearing a running outfit. Ruining outfits have spandex in them. These are the people you don't want to see in spandex.



There is a fourth category of racer: the oddments. These are the high-school athletes there to try to tear out their knees before they hit 18. There's the guy wearing the USMC Force Recon t-shirt with the baby jogger (the guy finished 3rd overall, by the way. And he started at the back of the pack). And then there's the HOLY CRAP IS THAT LADY RUNNING IN HER BRA AND PANTIES?!?!? Oh wait, those are her running clothes. Not underwear. Oh, and there's the really skinny Asian lady that is like normal width from side to side and then from front to back she's about the length of a pencil. A used pencil. Creepy.



But I see all these people show up, pin numbers on themselves, and do some sort of preening before the race. And I get to see said weirdos soon. This weekend actually. So, if your out at any footraces, looking for a fat guy hooting like an idiot and eating a rack of lamb. That'll be me.



Bring Napkins.



Fat Rock.