Anyways, just to throw some crap together because like my father always said, "Son, if you're going to do something, make sure you do it half-assed. And don't ever stick with anything, especially if it doesn't make you any money or get you chicks. Also, I never loved you.^"
In five days, I'm going to run in City2Surf, the Sydney equivalent of Bay2Breakers, with slight differences.
B2B: 12k
C2S: 14k
B2B: Lots of old, naked hippies getting sunburned.
C2S: Lots of fit, athletic runner-types, getting sunburned.
B2B: More drinking, more costumes.
C2S: Less drinking, fewer costumes.
B2B: Finish line party at GG Park and throughout the city.
C2S: Finish line party at Bondi Beach.
Not sure which is better yet. I'll post on Monday regarding my experiences. Maybe Tuesday if I am not yet out of my alcohol induced coma by Monday.
Now, why would I choose to drink myself into oblivion for something so trivial as the completion of a 14k race? It is clearly not as awesome as what this guy did.
The reason is because I've done the foolish thing of choosing not to drink in preparation for this race. Since last Friday, after my friend's birthday, I have not had a drop of sweet nectar. This has actually brought to light a phenomena for me: why is it whenever I consciously choose not to drink, the fun seems to be sapped out of life itself? When I just moved to Sydney and was just feeling my way out in the city, I easily went two plus weeks without so much as a sip of alcohol with barely a thought. But since loudly and definitively swearing off drink for merely the next 8 days, I can't make it through two days without going into a flop sweat at the sight of a tall, cold beer glistening under the dark musky barroom lighting.
For those of you who may remember, my last venture into "never drinking again" lasted all of six days, until it was St. Patrick's Day 2009, and I had no choice but to take shots of Jameson at the Irish Bank. (Honestly, no choice! It was for world peace, you know.) Mind you, I had this on my face to remind me why I shouldn't drink, but even that didn't stop me. Why is it so hard to give something up willingly?
Anyway, I've already begun planning my Sunday, post-race debauchery:
- Drink my face off.
- Eat the greasiest bacon cheeseburger I can force an Aussie cook to make. Maybe with a side of pizza.
- Lie on my pull-out sofa and watch crappy TV until I pass out, a la
(except replace the grapes with a nice single-barrel bourbon.)
It's gonna be amazeballs.
Alright. Seacrest, out.
* Yes, I do consider crying myself to sleep "fun" and "interesting".
^ Paraphrasing.
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