Cross posted at Someone Took In These Pants...
Our greatest national treasure. Ever.
There, I said it. But deep down, you know it's true. What else can you describe it as but sheer physical and emotional perseverance. Running 26.2 miles... on smack. Sure, the first few miles are easy with the heroin flowing through your veins like nitrous oxide in a primer-colored 1996 Toyota Celica. Towards the end, though, that rusted out Celica you call a body is in full self-preservation mode, convulsing all the way to the finish line and wheezing like an asthmatic child cutting the grass. I salute you, heroin junkie marathon runner, for you're dedication to living life to its fullest transcends all explanation and makes us all ask the question, "so, when do you find time to train what with the heroin addiction and all?"
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