Friday, April 16, 2004
6.2 miles to Abita Light
South Louisianans love their beer as I have thoroughly documented. Any excuse will do: crawfish boils, zydeco festivals, Tuesday. My research has now shown that what I originally thought was a tradition unique to the aptly named "Fat Boy 5K" I ran in a couple weeks ago, is actually the status quo for Cajun country runs: free after race beer.
I found this out this past weekend when I was roped in to running the Crescent City Classic, a 10K race through The Big Easy that kind of reminded me of the Bay to Breakers, but with more Elvis look alikes and Confederate flags (though just as many transvestites).
It actually went better than expected, considering my training consisted of drinking light beer and thinking real hard about working out in the week before the race. Right about mile 2.5 my training kicked in and I felt terrible, then good again about mile four and floored around mile five. Two things kept me going in the last mile: not being called a pussy by my friends for giving up and, more importantly, I had passed the same Confederate flag-shorts wearing dude I saw in the 5K I ran and I resolved to once again remind him who won the war.
After crossing the finish line at a respectable 67 minutes 51 seconds (and well ahead of General Lee) I stumbled in a daze to a tent that promised at least shade. It had so much more. There, free with the price of my prepaid race admission, was as much beer as you could drink. It wasn't great beer, but it wasn't bad either (Abita Light, a local microbrew) and it went well with the sausage jumbalaya they were serving.
That's what I like about these people: when they do something stupid, like run six miles, they are determined to get back every calorie stolen from them during their senseless endeavor and get drunk in the process.
I found this out this past weekend when I was roped in to running the Crescent City Classic, a 10K race through The Big Easy that kind of reminded me of the Bay to Breakers, but with more Elvis look alikes and Confederate flags (though just as many transvestites).
It actually went better than expected, considering my training consisted of drinking light beer and thinking real hard about working out in the week before the race. Right about mile 2.5 my training kicked in and I felt terrible, then good again about mile four and floored around mile five. Two things kept me going in the last mile: not being called a pussy by my friends for giving up and, more importantly, I had passed the same Confederate flag-shorts wearing dude I saw in the 5K I ran and I resolved to once again remind him who won the war.
After crossing the finish line at a respectable 67 minutes 51 seconds (and well ahead of General Lee) I stumbled in a daze to a tent that promised at least shade. It had so much more. There, free with the price of my prepaid race admission, was as much beer as you could drink. It wasn't great beer, but it wasn't bad either (Abita Light, a local microbrew) and it went well with the sausage jumbalaya they were serving.
That's what I like about these people: when they do something stupid, like run six miles, they are determined to get back every calorie stolen from them during their senseless endeavor and get drunk in the process.
