The tracksuits were out in all their glory. There were all white ones. Classy. There were silver bullets. Stealth. There were high waisted ones. Jackets were tucked in with as much precision as the collars were popped. Designer brands. Ones I suspect circa 1989. Something you would see if German P.E. teachers were climbing over the Berlin Wall. Basically, the excitement in the air could at least match, if not the colors of nylon and the socks with sandals.
The whole town was out to watch. Some had to watch from behind windows. Some lined the course, which happened to be in the busiest road in town, full of cars on a Sunday. The course was actually in the road. With the Nissans and suspiciously pimped out rides.
And then suddenly, after the opening ceremony, the bowing, the yelling Japanese into the microphone with hand raised open palm, the track suits came off and the spandex came out. Just when I thought I couldn’t handle any more matching nylon, the ante was upped. It was either spandex or shorts that could have been mistaken for a baggie. I wondered how seriously each man took his pick in runner’s wear.
I was the only woman in this race. To be fair to women everywhere I am disregarding the one other woman who ran in pigtails and a cream colored tracksuit. When she crossed her finish line she collapsed making the sounds of a dying animal. Everyone ignored her and so she began to crawl behind a building. It might as well never have happened.
The cheering along the way kept me going. I was a hell of a spectacle, so I couldn’t stop, especially after little children gasped as I went by. Even so, by the time I made it to my finish, my relay partner had left without me. I might be mistaken, but I thought the hand off was the essential element to a relay race.
All in all, 4 thumbs up!
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