The audiobook to which I'm currently listening is Peter Mayle's French Lessons. In it, he tells of a rather unusual race called the Marathon du Medoc. Yes, it's a race, but it's really more like a party. There are regular stops for wine tastings, and people dress up in costumes (many in drag!) for the race.
Now that's what I call a marathon. What drove me to write this post, however, was his comparison of this event in the Bordeaux region of France to what he normally sees on the faces of runners.
He described "earnest joggers" as showing "all the signs of joy you’d expect to find in torture victims." And isn't that a great description?
Years (and a large number of pounds) ago, I was pretty seriously into cycling. I remember being 30 miles into a ride, and I'd pass a jogger. As rung out as I'd sometimes feel, I knew I didn't look as bad as the average jogger. I never could fathom the means by which anyone was attracted to running. Just the looks on runners' faces was all I needed to see!