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1848 Daguerreotype of Edgar Allan Poe at 39, a...

1848 Daguerreotype of Edgar Allan Poe at 39, a year before his death (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dear all,

   There are three reasons why this blog post is so terribly late: 1) I had to write 3 seminar papers in 3 three weeks; 2) Those papers had to be between 10-20 pages; 3) I waited until the last minute to do them and then had a minor psychotic episode. The minor episode came around page 15 of my paper on black stereotypes in 19th century fiction. I was reading Edgar Allan Poe and getting angrier and angrier. Why, you ask? Because Poe’s a racist and racists anger me. However, I still love Edgar Allan Poe’s work. His early poetry isn’t that great, but the fiction is choice. At that moment in time, my hatred of racism, but my love of good writing started beating each other with baseball bats which caused a crippling case of writer’s block. Then my eye started twitching. On top of the crippling writer’s block and twitching eye, I hadn’t showered in 12 hours and was able to smell myself. My hair was so dirty it had gone straight. That’s never a good look.

    I’m telling you all of this so that you will hopefully forgive me for being so lax in my blogging duties and continue to love me.

                               Gyasi

P.S. That last description of how I looked after writing for 3 weeks straight is the reason why I’m not dating right now and probably won’t until I finish grad school. They say love conquers all, but I don’t think body odor and excessive hair grease are included in that.

P.S.S. Now onto the blog!

After the hills came alive with the sound of my screaming, Kira and I were on our last mile.

We were chugging.

We were pumped.

We had been running for over 2 hours!

We had been running for over 2 hours?!

That was when I hit the wall.

Every runner on the face of the earth knows about THE WALL. You hit THE WALL when you absolutely, absolutely, simply cannot, will not, hope to God in heaven above, absolutely cannot run anymore. I’ve hit the wall before, but that was when I was still new to running and 6 miles seemed like a long run. 13.1 miles gives 6 miles a wedgie and steals its milk money. THE WALL transforms into some entirely new beast when you’ve been running for over 2 hours and you still aren’t finished. THE WALL has attitude at mile 13. THE WALL becomes DA WALL! when you’re running a half-marathon. It’s like THE WALL but with much more attitude and a pair of brass knuckles. THE WALL gives you a wedgie, but DA WALL! puts you into a coma. Upon hitting DA WALL! I stopped running and started walking.

Me: I’ve been running for over 2 hours. I can’t run anymore. I just want to cry…and eat. Good Lord, I really want something to eat. I’m just gonna stop running and go get a churro. Do they sell churros here? Goofy must sell churros. This is the Magic Kingdom, shouldn’t churros just appear? Wait, where am I? When did I get to Epcot?

At mile 13, you’re supposed to book it and run like you have the entire Israeli army chasing you because they think you short sheeted their beds. However, I was dehydrated, hungry, and possibly delirious. I’m still not sure if I was delirious because I haven’t gotten around to asking my sister if she did indeed do the moonwalk in order to motivate me to finish.

There were hundreds of people running past me dressed in all sorts of fanciful costumes.

I couldn’t tell fact from fiction at that point.

Anyway, Kira did something that spurred me to action and so I found one final reserve of energy and made it across the finish line.

Unfortunately, my hamstrings did not make it across the finish line.

I left them about 300 meters from the finish line and was unable to recover them.

The hamstrings I’m currently running with are on loan and unfortunately, they do not work as well as the hamstrings I lost during the half-marathon.

They’re like the shoes you rent to go bowling.

They just feel wrong.

So, my ever-patient and kind readers, we made it across the finish line in 2 hours and 20 minutes. It was hard. It was difficult. It hurt. It made me angry. It made me cry. It made me hallucinate, but I did it.

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