So you’re running the New York City Marathon. Congratulations – you’re either a smug fitness freak or an attention whore. No matter the case, I definitely hate you.*
You’ve probably been training for a year, raised a bunch of money for the charity of your choice and picked out the perfect over-crowded Upper West Side sports bar to hang out at after the race. And guess what: I don’t give a shit. At all.
I haven’t given a shit since you sent out that first mass e-mail announcing your participation in the Marathon. In fact, it was then that I immediately considered ending our relationship because I feared the ensuing e-mails. And I was right.
First came the map pointing out various spots to stand along the race route, all of which are nearly impossible to get to thanks to the fact that the marathon blocks off all major streets for the day. Then came notice of your pace goal times on the spiffy marathon web site so I can track every slow step of yours. It all ends with the obligatory after-party invite, which extends the misery even longer and almost made me change my e-mail address.
Seriously, asking me to watch you run in the marathon is bad enough on the first football Sunday in November. Tacking on an afterparty that doesn’t start until the second quarter of the 4 o’ clock games is just inconsiderate. I should be parked on a bar stool watching 9 different TVs and tracking 8 different fantasy football teams all day long. Instead, thanks to your mid-life health crisis, I’m going to be standing on a street corner holding a handmade sign that your girlfriend made with a magic marker and some sparkly pens.
Speaking of girlfriends and wives, you don’t get off free here, either. Being forced to cheer you on is even worse. You’re just a friend by association and I definitely don’t care about watching you strive for a personal best in your third marathon. But since my close friend has to go watch you run by at six different designated cheering zones so he can keep getting laid, so do I – even though you’ll be blind with pain by mile 7 and won’t stand a chance of picking us out in the sea of other chumps who got guilted into showing up.
Don’t get me wrong, running in the New York City Marathon is an incredibly impressive athletic accomplishment. Just share it with someone who actually cares. (Hint: That’s not me.)
*So…um, this was written before the whole thing got called off this year. But rest assured, I still feel this way and I will still feel this way next year when the race resumes.