“Sorry, I can’t meet you for drinks–today’s my long day.”
“Hey I’d like to have a steak but I have to carbo load because tomorrow I’m doing a Fartlek training run.”
“Hey, I just got me these new anti-pronating, air infused $565 running shoes to go with my spandex shorts. They look cool with that belt that I strap the little bottles to.”
“Hey, I just registered for the Ultra ultra Iron Person in Croatia. Wanna give me $200 to sponsor me?”
“Which bumper sticker should I get? 26.2, 13.1, 111? I’ve done them all you know?
All right, we all know ’em. Marathoners and their even more annoying counterparts, the tri-atholoners. They speak a weird language, they hang out with like minded weirdos and they feel compelled to subtly and not so subtly let you know about just how cool they are.
If you wanna spend your weekends running for four hours, running uphill both ways to Syracuse or shaving your body hair to become more aerodynamic good for you. I do have a request–can you shut up about it?
And when you get plantar facitiatisacosonoma of your anterior brezhnivia ligament, I don’t want to hear about that. It’s your fault. And the physical therapy/surgery/nutritional program you’re going to cure it with bores the piss out of me to.
I’m glad you decided to do some sort of life-changing thing for yourself. I’m not sure why you expect 50,000 people to cheer you do it.
You can be like Nike if you want.
Just do it!
But stop talking about it.