The Carl Lewis 10k (without Carl Lewis) was started off with an address on the PA by Carol Lewis. Perhaps the organisers had just looked up “Lewis, C” in the phone book and bunged Carol Lewis 50 bones to show up. Adding an extra “o” to the event fliers was probably cheaper than making new fliers without Carl Lewis on them at all. As we all know, Carl Lewis retired from the event when he heard I was running.
I was surprised to find myself at the race start line by 8am. The surprise was due to my hideous debillitating illness which had almost led me to pass out on the ascent to the tech booth at the Hyde Park Theatre the previous evening. My head swam and my neck swelled. I felt like a turd floating around in a whirlpool of industrial waste – something you might see by the beach of many British coastal towns. But this is America goddamnit, and you can’t feel like that for long. Not in the land of opportunity. Not in the land of the drive through pharmacy. The land of petrol stations that sell booze. The drugs I got from Walgreens made me feel like a rhino on crack when I woke up in the morning. An unstoppable force searching for some immovable objects to obliterate.
I started the race feeling invincible. I ran faster than I had ever run before, and found myself overtaking people so that I could follow better looking asses. The inability to feel my crunching joints, bleeding lungs and splitting connective tissues allowed me to stay focussed on the jiggling buns of a superior class of athlete. Hurrah for acetaminophen. Though the comedown is a bit shitty.