Unless you're being chased by a bunch of evil mutant penguins out for your blood, why bother?

I was taking a dump last night, flipping through the pages of one of my weekly subscriptions (Yes, I subscribe to magazines instead of reading them online, how jurassic is that?) when I chanced upon this article about an unhealthy obsession with marathons.

By the way, for those of you who still make the mistake of calling your 5 kilometer photo-op a 'marathon', you actually need to run 42 kilometers before boasting about your 'first marathon' on facebook. For good measure, read it again, I said RUN, not jog, capisce?

The article was written by a Linda Flanagan, who claims to have missed out on qualifying for the Olympics by 4 minutes and 18 seconds, but seemingly enjoys torturing her mind and body almost 2 decades after her peak form by still running every day and trying to go faster, longer.

Okay okay, no point in getting bitter about it, I say to myself. She's a world-class athlete, and you're... well, not? Has never been, will never ever be, even in your wildest dreams, never? Just dunk the mag in the trash bin and pull your shorts up and get over it already, will you? But just as I was about to roll said magazine to kill a pesky cockroach crawling on the shower curtain, eerie images popped out from its glossy pages and caught my fancy: extreme marathons?

First, there's 'The Ice Marathon', set on Antarctica, same continent where Agent Fox Mulder found the space ship. Then there's the 'North Pole Marathon', undoubtedly where Santa ran to his massive coronary demise, probably the reason why I didn't get that Aquaman action figure I wrote him about. Up next, the '24-Hour Ultra Marathon' in Namibia, in the desert, which must be a good reason to keep on running for 24 hours. I doubt anyone would want to be left behind by the rest of the imbeciles joining this oddysey. Lastly, the 'Marathon of the Sands' in the Moroccan Sahara. They've pictures of people running behind camels and Bedouins, not far behind, just out of the picture must be the vultures, ready to lap up the unfortunate ones who didn't think they needed THAT much training.

Why in hell would anyone want to go through those extremes just to prove a point to themselves? Fine, you're an amazing athlete, Forrest Gump has nothing on you, you're oozing with all that I-only-feel-alive-when-I'm-dying attitude that you obviously subscribe to, and you're better than all the rest of us slackers, given. But why bother?

*****

Sorry about that rant just now. I don't usually mind other people's business, nor should I. They do things that they enjoy the way I should be doing things that I enjoy. Probably just a bit of bitterness on my part over seeing people having fun when I'm stuck at home bouncing my foamy little stress-ball off the walls. (No it's not fun, just something to do) So why did I bother posting it if I'll only write up an apology in post-script? I have no idea. Must be craving for some attention or something, and bored. Definitely bored.