Does That Sound Like Banjos to You?

Well, I have made my decision. I have signed up for the Ellerbe Springs Marathon in Ellerbe, North Carolina, on March 12th. If I run a sub-4:00 hour marathon, it will move me up from start-group F to start-group D for the Comrades Marathon. That would mean that an additional 4500 or so real athletes will have to line up behind me at the start of the race. What a cruel fate to impose upon them! When they seem my sad efforts to "run",they will no doubt remember the great words of "Casey at the Bat"--"That runner is a Pudding; That runner is a Fake." And thusly they will learn a great life lesson--"Life Is Not Fair." (And Neither Am I.)

I'll confess that I don't know much about this Ellerbe marathon. I have never been to Ellerbe, NC, and only skimmed the race website. Once I confirmed that the race takes place during my spring break, and that Ellerbe is within driving distance, I blocked out all further information. Knowledge would only confuse me. Nonetheless, I'm sure my mental picture of the town is 100% accurate:

Picturesque; full of friendly people; and pleasant. It's true that having to whistle and carry cane poles while running the entire race barefoot, may hurt my time some, it will assure that I blend in with the natives. And, yes, "I Like Ike." And know that we must "Impeach Earl Warren."

Of course, Cory has a darker mental image of Ellerbe. Just like his view of everything else. But then, again, he is the guy who considers Malthius "a rose-colored Pollyanna." Nothing good ever happens, and if it does, it's only so that the bad thing that follows will feel so much worse.

If you could go inside Cory's brain--not recommended for anyone as kind-hearted as, say, Joe Stalin--and enter his version of Ellerbe, here's what you'd find:

I guess I should be a little nervous. If there's anything a guy who grew up in southern Indiana should know, it's psychotic bumpkins. But I'm guessing that in North Carolina, they think of Hoosiers as being the real hicks. They'll be too busy feeling sorry for me to mistreat me. For once, being from the Land Where Time Stands Still, is probably going to be an asset.

Once I get a marathon time to submit to the Comrades Marathon, I am also required to submit the name of the running club that I am affiliated with. Of course, Cory and I are not affiliated with any running clubs, or, for that matter, any clubs of any sort, as that would require us to have at least minimal social skills. So, I guess we'll have to create our own running club. I had the perfect name for our club. I hadn't yet told Cory, but in my mind, I could see us heading to the starting line of Comrades wearing our "Bitchin' Total Frickin' Rock Stars From Mars" running club shirts. But then some TV sitcom actor snuck inside my brain and stole my idea, damn it. I don't know how he did it; I was sure that my kitty cat blood and Don Knotts DNA would scare away any intruders. Whatever happened, I'm realizing that my brain can't process it. That's all for now. Time for me to wax my mercury surfboard.