a league of extraordinary runners
Ever tried reading "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" while listening to your TV blasting arabic [Egyptian, Gulf and bad Lebanese] music? I have. And I failed.
Therefore, I stopped reading and decided to tell you about last Sunday. When I ran the marathon! It was only the 10k marathon, but it was fun and so worth the penguin-walk of shame that ensued during the week following that fateful sunday.
So last sunday, my brother and I joined the glorious league of lebanese and international runners who ran for a cause, ran for fun, ran with their mummy, ran to win, ran to jog [my brother] etc.
And needless to say, the streets of Beirut were filled. Filled with the lebanese people, who were, once again, joined together, running side by side, to reach one goal: the finish line. [If only there were more such things to bring us Lebaneesies together. Anyhow, I'm not here to comment on the political situation, others do it much, much better than I ever will.]
So we all ran. My brother and I started off running at the same rhythm. Soon enough, however, he left me to run after a pretty girl. Just kidding, I asked him to leave me because I was getting slower by the second. In a nutshell, my race was an alternation of running and walking [mostly walking] and at the finish line, I received the 5k medal [for the "youth race"], which was an extremely predictable incident, seeing how my life is a series of unfortunate events.
I ran, and with me ran an entire population. We all [I assume] almost slipped over the water and juice given to us by those kind volunteers who baked under the sun. We were all bothered by those who walked for ten minutes then sprinted for thirty seconds [well, they bothered me, and that was enough]. We all tried the sneakers bar [I didn't but my brother did], thinking oh, I so need this chocolate bar to give me some energy, so I can finish the race. Only to realize that this bar was a big fat mistake, and-where did this nauseating feeling just come from? We all had this tiny flick of hope, that some surprising energy was going to take hold of us, and that we were going to run faster than all the rest, and manage to arrive among the first ones. And then we all felt extremely helpless, when our brother called us to alert us that he had already finished, while we were not nearly halfway done. [Okay only I did.]
I ran, and my eyes were observing every skinny jeans and bad shoe choice. I ran, but was bothered whenever the stands played loud commercial music. [Until I arrived to a certain stand, which played "Baby keep smiling", a song that made me feel I had Hermes' winged sandals on!]
I ran, and, against the odds, my tired feet kept going on. Actually, I must tell you, that it's hard to feel this kind of freedom anywhere else. You know that you are extremely tired, but you get a motivation you did not know you had in you. And it feels just fantastic.
Once the race was finished, I found my brother, we had bananas and orange juice. We explored our goody bags. I complained like a 5-year-old that I got the wrong medal, and the only way for me to shut up was when my brother promised to give me his. And boy did I not deserve it.
Back home we marched, cold, tired, limping. [I speak for myself.] but proud to have completed the race, and to have taken part in this extraordinary event.
Marathon Aftermath: walking like a penguin-robot for the rest of the week, and a loss of voice due to a sore throat in my case [I sound like I have rust in my vocal chords]. Oh, and a strong will to train more before the next marathon, so I could compete properly!
And on this note, fellownosity of readers, I leave you, to go back to my League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Part 1.
Tarathon,
Sarette.
Therefore, I stopped reading and decided to tell you about last Sunday. When I ran the marathon! It was only the 10k marathon, but it was fun and so worth the penguin-walk of shame that ensued during the week following that fateful sunday.
So last sunday, my brother and I joined the glorious league of lebanese and international runners who ran for a cause, ran for fun, ran with their mummy, ran to win, ran to jog [my brother] etc.
And needless to say, the streets of Beirut were filled. Filled with the lebanese people, who were, once again, joined together, running side by side, to reach one goal: the finish line. [If only there were more such things to bring us Lebaneesies together. Anyhow, I'm not here to comment on the political situation, others do it much, much better than I ever will.]
So we all ran. My brother and I started off running at the same rhythm. Soon enough, however, he left me to run after a pretty girl. Just kidding, I asked him to leave me because I was getting slower by the second. In a nutshell, my race was an alternation of running and walking [mostly walking] and at the finish line, I received the 5k medal [for the "youth race"], which was an extremely predictable incident, seeing how my life is a series of unfortunate events.
I ran, and with me ran an entire population. We all [I assume] almost slipped over the water and juice given to us by those kind volunteers who baked under the sun. We were all bothered by those who walked for ten minutes then sprinted for thirty seconds [well, they bothered me, and that was enough]. We all tried the sneakers bar [I didn't but my brother did], thinking oh, I so need this chocolate bar to give me some energy, so I can finish the race. Only to realize that this bar was a big fat mistake, and-where did this nauseating feeling just come from? We all had this tiny flick of hope, that some surprising energy was going to take hold of us, and that we were going to run faster than all the rest, and manage to arrive among the first ones. And then we all felt extremely helpless, when our brother called us to alert us that he had already finished, while we were not nearly halfway done. [Okay only I did.]
I ran, and my eyes were observing every skinny jeans and bad shoe choice. I ran, but was bothered whenever the stands played loud commercial music. [Until I arrived to a certain stand, which played "Baby keep smiling", a song that made me feel I had Hermes' winged sandals on!]
I ran, and, against the odds, my tired feet kept going on. Actually, I must tell you, that it's hard to feel this kind of freedom anywhere else. You know that you are extremely tired, but you get a motivation you did not know you had in you. And it feels just fantastic.
Once the race was finished, I found my brother, we had bananas and orange juice. We explored our goody bags. I complained like a 5-year-old that I got the wrong medal, and the only way for me to shut up was when my brother promised to give me his. And boy did I not deserve it.
Back home we marched, cold, tired, limping. [I speak for myself.] but proud to have completed the race, and to have taken part in this extraordinary event.
Marathon Aftermath: walking like a penguin-robot for the rest of the week, and a loss of voice due to a sore throat in my case [I sound like I have rust in my vocal chords]. Oh, and a strong will to train more before the next marathon, so I could compete properly!
And on this note, fellownosity of readers, I leave you, to go back to my League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, Part 1.
Tarathon,
Sarette.
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