Flying Pig Half Marathon of Pain

By: Josh Saunders


The Flying Pig Half Marathon should have been named The Peeing, Pooping, Bleeding, Leaking Pig Half Marathon.

The pre-race dinner was an absurd array of pasta, meatballs, garlic bread goodness followed by mounds of cake and ice cream that was heaven on earth. Even though I was digging my own grave with my teeth, heaven seemed just a little brighter (and closer). By the time the last act of gluttony was over that concoction was planning its path to the great escape. The pulsating action on my ninja juicer of a gut had me dilated to 4cm and ready for my epidural by the time I reached the exit door.

The Pig was one of the best races for people watching. I saw a lady in perfectly matched shoes, shorts, shirt, and head band jump a bush and squat with a sigh of relief on her face that would make Jenna Jameson blush. 

A guy right in front of me developed a "leaky faucet" in white shorts. The people behind him parted like the Red Sea to get away from the carnage but I remained with my front row seat to the shit show. After the brown beauty spread from cheek to cheek he began patting himself, checking for signs of escape. Worried some frosting had leaked out the tube he turned around and saw the ear to ear smile on my face and he knew he had blown a O Ring and was loosing pressure rapidly. He didn't slow down, he kept going with a cloud of rancid waste trailing behind him. Cheers to you "Shit Myself McGee" your secret is safe with me. 

Chafing is something most runners deal with from time to time or in my case every time. Some poor dude must have been rubbed pretty raw when he made it to aid station, grabbed a tongue suppressor full of Vaseline and buried it up the leg of his shorts with such a look of pure ecstasy that I wasn't sure what sort of "aid" was going on in that station but I sure wanted to find out. 

I'm not even going to mention the joy of being passed by a guy wearing a sign that says "I'm 92 what is your excuse?". I about challenged him to a duel in the street but I was afraid I would lose. In my defense he was accompanied by what looked to be his 75 year old son, so let's just call them formidable opponents. Screw you Pops!

I've been ordered by a higher power, my wife, to say one thing I like about running. I don't have much good to say about running but I LOVE RUNNERS. I love that I've never met a runner who wasn't kicking some demons ass by getting out of bed and running one more time. I love that the very demon that pushed them down for so long is now the one whose ass they kick every time they pound the pavement.

Running Sucks, Runners Rock!

After three half marathons in 6 weeks I have the Half Fanatics qualification I've been wanting. Now I can try some obstacle course racing. Why not start with picking a fight with the biggest bully on the playground. Next up Tough Mudder, Ohio. What could possibly go wrong?

I'm stapling my Do Not Resuscitate card to my shirt. Just let die.

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