The End of My Career
In writing this I’m going to hold the assumption that all my readers are aware of certain events in the Canary Islands this past weekend. If you’re not, I suggest leaving this web page immediately. The following article will probably offend your sensibilities and strand your sanity on a desert island off the coast of Africa, but definitely not attached to Africa in any way, culturally or geologically.
I’ve received several bits of good advice over the past few days, but far and away the best I’ve gotten is the suggestion to hire an agent. But not just any agent (or any one agent) – a bubbly, busty coed agent. You know, the kind who will organize my appearances while reclining on top of a piano in a low-cut skirt, or hand me flowers when I finish races ahead of barely-conscious competitors. Fortunately, I have this covered already with Reese Ruland’s Quality Crewing Company, who has been handling my PR for several months now and is responsible for catapulting me into international scandal. My career has never been more incomprehensible.
You’re probably wondering about my interpretation of European racing versus American racing. Well, once I get my hearing back I’ll try to come up with a cohesive answer. They love ultrarunning over here – it’s awesome. To race at that level of competition with that kind of intense media focus on the runners was invigorating. The energy and excitement surrounding this race really made it something special, and I’m proud to have been able to experience both an outstandingly beautiful course and play my part in an exciting race among the best in the sport. At the same time, I’ll be glad to return to the anonymity of Colorado. Both places have their merits and I’m lucky to experience them both.
This weekend I’ll be competing in the Zegama-Aizkorri marathon in the Basque country of Spain with many of the same competitors. Fortunately, I hear they grow lots of flowers in that area. According to sources who wished to remain anonymous (I made them up), all of Europe will be cheering us on. For my part, I intend to fully utilize every aid station, Slow Aaron style, and really get my mid-race baguette-and-pasta on, with a side of sparkling water. Because it’s not just running – it’s eating too. And if it’s not Shot Blok lasagna smothered in Clif Shots, it better be salami and cheese with olives. This race is also a great opportunity to try out the new rum and whiskey Clif Shots – inspired by literal interpretations everywhere. If you would like to try them out yourself, please get in touch with my agent. She’ll most likely be playing beach volleyball with her attractive and equally scantily-clad college interns.