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I watched crazy people bleed from the tits and shit their nylon shorts while trying to run the New York City Marathon on Sunday. Just kidding. I mean, I did go watch the marathon—I uncharacteristically arose at nine on a Sunday morning because I wanted to go with Kyuti to cheer on our friend Marcus, in fact—but I did not actually see any soiled track pants or bloody chest areas. Apparently, in the world of athletes (a world I know next to nothing about unless we count the ten year span of my youth spent training to be a competitive figure skater, but let's not), they have lots of magical solutions for things, like some sort of thick, chalky stuff that you spackle onto your tits and your balls before running long distances. Still, what, pray tell, does one do about the shits? Lisa Nowak it?

Anyway, the best part of watching the marathon was that it was something I hadn't done since 1995. The other best part was that Kyuti and I had green ThunderStix noisemakers, those inflatable bats that you bang together like a retarded seal. I tried to make a balloon animal out of my ThunderStix, but it didn't work. I kind of wish I had also had a giant foam hand in standard "number one" style.

The other best part was, on the corner where we were standing, there was a rock and roll band. It looked like the marathon organizers were behind on the planning so they just picked one homeless person from each of the five boroughs and gave them a flask and a musical instrument. This band seemed to be playing all their own original songs, and let me just say that if I was running in the marathon, I would have sprinted when I reached that corner.

The other best part was the guy standing next to us who took his cheering duties very seriously. I think his personal goal was to call out every single name he could see written on the clothes, costumes, or bodies of every runner who passed by. "Go Jim! Go Tina! Go John! Yeah, Danny! C'mon Brazil! Keep going, Grandpa Joe! Go Spiderman! You can do it, Mtumbe!" It was awesome. I loved it.

The other best part was when civilians tried to cross the street during the race and would get swept up in the stream. Who knows if some of them ever made it to the other side!

The other and final best part was that we spotted Marcus on the run and screamed. I held out one of my ThunderStix and he slapped it as he passed. He was running not just for himself, but to raise money to help find a cure for Parkinson's disease. You know who has Parkinson's? Janet Reno. Anyway, I'm really glad we were able to cheer Marcus on. Granted, it was only the eight mile mark, but it was within walking distance of our homes, and we were really tired. Marcus finished at 3:32:24, and his goal was 3:30:00. He's a superstar. Way bigger than that Thetan hostage who decided to run incognito. I'm pretty sure all those dianetics slowed her down.

Later, I happened to be sitting next to a stranger who was reading a thick paperback romance novel. I believe it was called Secrets of an Elegant Lady. It was definitely Secrets of a _______ Lady. I know that. I tried to read, discreetly, over the woman's shoulder:

"Nigel Cavendish, now Viscount Cavendish, thanks in no small part to an errant pistol shot..."

Topics For Discussion:
1. Do you think long distance runners wear adult diapers? Why or Why not?
2. What does the New York City Marathon have to do with sitting next to a stranger who was reading a romance novel?
3. The author implies that figure skating is not a sport. Do you agree or disagree? Why?
4. Do you believe that Katie Holmes is a hostage? Why or Why not?
5. Did Marcus do well in the New York City Marathon? Why or Why not?
6. How many famous people can you think of who have Parkinson's? Do "real people" get Parkinson's? Why or Why not?
7. The author knows that the romance novel was called Secrets of a _____ Lady. Fill in the blank.
8. How would you have completed the unfinished sentence in the romance novel? Write it down.