Ashley Ream Dispatches from the City of Angels I'm a writer and humorist living in and writing about Los Angeles. You can catch my novel LOSING CLEMENTINE out March 6 from William Morrow. In the meantime, feel free to poke around. Over at my website you can find even more blog entries than I could fit here, as well as a few other ramblings. Enjoy and come back often. |
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2008-01-18 9:08 AM Funny, Forest, Funny Lest you think ultramarthons are not hysterical (see previous post), I have compiled a list of "stuff commonly seen on race day." Feel free to laugh at our expense.
"Turtle Backs" - Small backpacks containing a plastic bladder filled with the foulest-tasting sports drink we can get our hands on with a tube running out of it that we will suck on manically as though it were the cure for cancer, Lou Gehrig's disease and toe fungus all rolled into one. We will then stuff all the twenty-seven extra pockets with tiny foil packets of GU (more on this later), salt pills, blister repair kits, jellybeans, sunscreen, tissues and at least three electronic gadgets, which may or may not include cell phone, MP3 player, GPS and digital camera. This ridiculous pack will so obviously resemble the carapace of a box turtle it will be nearly impossible to resist the urge to push one of us over on our backs just to watch our legs kick feebly in the air. GU - A food-replacement substance scientifically formulated to achieve the exact balance of nutrients required for intense endurance sports, also scientifically formulated to have the exact texture of a giant packet of snot that will instantly trigger the gag reflex in nearly all sentient mammals. Ridiculously Unwarranted Encouragement - It is the law of the ultrarunning jungle that when passing a fellow racer on the trail you must congratulate them on their awesome performance regardless of the circumstances in which you find them. This lead to the following scenario, which I am absolutely not making up. A guy badly twists his ankle and is struggling to finish something like a hundred-mile race, hopping from tree to tree for support. Another runner comes upon him and says, "Hey, buddy, doing great!" To which our tree-hugger, in an egregious breach of ultrarunner etiquette, replies: "Fuck you. I'm holding onto a tree." (Months after reading an account of this, it still gives me the giggles.) There are more, oh, so many more. But I have to save a few tidbits for my post-race report - well, something other than a running tally of the number of times I trip on tree roots and land struggling on my turtle back. Read/Post Comments (4) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top |
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