I must admit, nothing makes me feel dumber, more inadequate and like more of a loser than marathon day. Every year, the New York City Marathon (sponsored by a company which, surprisingly, is still around) runs right by my apartment. And every year, I wander downstairs to watch a bunch of people run (and for the truly courageous, cycle) past. Followed by a whole lot of NYC cops on their little scooters.
What I have in common with the NYPD is my total inability to even think about running a marathon. And instead, I ate a bagel, drank some coffee, and watched some skinny guys zip by — the same guys who went on to win the whole shmebang. So that was cool, but not in the sense that I was as far as I could be, despite being mere feet away, from ever competing.
But one benefit to a sport which endlessly tortures your joints and has proven ill long-term effects, is that it motivated me to go to the gym, do some low impact cardio, and not feel too badly for living with arthritis. Because while it keeps me from doing stuff out there — marathon kind of stuff — I’m better off as a result. Plus I look kind of stupid in spandex.