Things I Hate: Marathons

SCENE: ED'S CAR

ED and his lovely wife ERIN are driving to church on a beautiful autumn Sunday morning. Through the windows they are greeted by the bright, dew-dappled streets of Saint Paul. A flowing, multi-hued tapestry of leaves -- stunning reds, startling yellows, shit-your-pants oranges -- wafts gently through the air and then settles on the earth like a heroin addict passing peacefully into a coma.

ED drives happily, occasionally stealing an admiring glance toward the love of his life. The wonder and beauty of their marital bliss inspires them both to spontaneously break into song.

ED and ERIN (singing): Hey! Hey! Things are great! We can't complain, and that is great. Hey! Hey! Things are fine. We feel like drinkin' beer and wine. (Or something cheerful like that.)

ED (no longer singing): Well, beloved wife, how wonderful are our lives, exactly?

ERIN: Fuckin' aces, motherfucker. Better than a fuckin' cocksucker eatin' pussy on a Triscuit. (I apologize for the profanity -- that's just how she talks.)

ED: I heartily concur. I cannot fathom the possibility of any event or happenstance infringing upon the general bonhomie with which our lives are proceeding.

ERIN: Fuckin' A, you shit-fuckin' cockface.

ED smiles lovingly at his beatific bride and turns the corner onto Snelling Ave.

There appears to be a vaguely ominous hubbub ahead of them on Summit.

ED: There appears to be a vaguely ominous hubbub ahead of us on Summit.

ERIN: Ass-munchin' cuntbags! You don't think ...

The sky suddenly turns INKY BLACK. Lightning shocks the frame. Music swells: DUM DUM DUM!!!!! DUM DUM!!! AND MORE DUM!!!!!

ED: It's the MARATHON!!!!!

ERIN lets loose a blood-curdling scream from the depths of her soul. They swerve to avoid the dead-eyed zombies in bright shorts plodding pointlessly down the street. ED and ERIN then hit a building, their car explodes, and they die horribly.

Ladies and gentlemen, the little scene you just enjoyed depicts a real event in my life, one that I am only now able to come to terms with. It was I who was driving to church, fully intending to spend the day worshipping our Lord Jesus Christ, volunteering for charities, tending to the sick, healing the wounded, torturing heretics, flagellating myself with barbed wire, and so forth, when my day was ruined by the Twin Cities marathon.

The Twin Cities marathon goes straight through the heart of St. Paul, completely closing down the city. There is no way to get through, not a single street that allows traffic to pass. Basically, if you want to get somewhere in this city of several hundred thousand, you're shit outta luck.

On this particular marathon day, we tried our hardest to find an opening, but eventually had to just stop short of our destination and search for about a half an hour for street parking. It's usually plentiful around this area, but this day the streets were clogged with the cars of the braindead gawkers whose idea of fun was to sit on the side of the road and watch some masochists run by slowly.

Then we had to walk several miles to actually get to church. We would have given up entirely, but there was the first meeting of an environmental action committee that I really wanted to attend. At the meeting I ended up resolving that global warming was A-OK with me, as long as it gave all marathon runners heat stroke.

Why exactly are marathons permitted to grind whole cities to a halt? Marathon running is a hobby, and like any other, it's a matter of personal taste. Obviously, it's not my taste -- I'm more of a sit-and-write-insanely-angry-diatribes kind of guy. But you don't see guys like me and Ted Kaczynski bringing whole cities to a standstill so we can sit hunched over desks. (Well, maybe Ted did, in a way. Bad example.)

It would be a little more acceptable if this particular marathon was raising money for some worthy cause. But there was none. It existed only so some people could run slowly in a straight line for a while, and other people could watch them do this thrilling feat.

Maybe it's great exercise. So is a treadmill, and you can run on that all day without making such a to-do. Maybe there's something wonderful about doing it outside, with a bunch of other people. So go run somewhere where no one lives, like Iowa. Maybe it's a great test of personal endurance and stamina. So is seeing how many times you can hit yourself in the head with a beer bottle before you pass out. I don't see why any of this necessitates closing down a city, or why I should be impressed with these people.

But there's more to my annoyance than just rage over the city-strangling nature of marathons. I think if it were, say, a really long snake preventing me from getting around, I wouldn't be half as irritated. But with marathons, there seems to be an implication that I'm supposed to be congratulating the runners, as if they're doing something wonderfully noble. Of course, they're not, at least not in this particular marathon, but you wouldn't know it from the throngs of people who cheer them on through their pointless quest. Meanwhile, you don't see anyone sitting near my computer cheering me on as I type. Not that I deserve it, but neither do the runners.

To me, actually, there's a very strong pointlessness to it all. I'm always wary of any task that's extremely difficult but doesn't really seem to help anyone or accomplish much of anything worthwhile. It's sort of like those people who climb really huge mountains. You risk you life and limb, spend years training, expend tremendous energy and time, and in the payoff you get ... a nice view. How exactly was that worth it? Isn't there something more constructive you could be doing? "Because it's there" is not a reason. I could punch you in the face "because it's there."

Sadly, I end up encountering marathon runners a lot, none of whom I can punch in the face -- see, the social circles I run in are basically yuppies who don't have any kids or money, and they tend to fill the gaping holes in their lives inexpensively by running marathons. I always have to act impressed when they tell me they're training for a marathon, but secretly I'm thinking that it's just a very self-indulgent hobby for people who enjoy pain and are not bored easily.

Perhaps that's true of all hobbies, when you come down to it. But the crucial difference, and I can't stress this enough, is that stamp collecting and breakdancing and poking yourself in the eye with a stick are all hobbies that DO NOT SHUT DOWN CITIES. Marathon runners of the world, go circle your living rooms 3000 times and leave the rest of us out of it.