So, a supermegafreakohurricane swept into the New York area and soundly kicked everyone’s ass.  Some asses got kicked much harder than others.  Almost in biblical terms, the hurricane smote the Jersey Shore, possibly for its past transgressions but I don’t wanna appear insensitive.  The financial district in downtown New York also bore a major brunt of the storm.  Farther north and inland, it seemed a bit different.  It appeared that if you got away without much harm, you were inconvenienced at best.  But if you got any damage, you got royally fucked.  No middle ground, it seems.

My family and I got incredibly fortunate.  After several harrowing hours of pounding winds on Monday night, we came through the next day with only a loss of electrical power to the house.  Everything else remained as it was.  The cars were covered in leaves, and the yard just littered with small branches, but that was about it.  Holy shit, did we dodge a big one.

Without power, we were fortunate to have friends around the corner who’d offered us refuge in their homes with some essentials – warmth, good food, and PAH-WOAHHRRRR!!!  And gobs of wi-fi.  ZOMG, wi-fi-nom-nom-nom-nom-nom!!!

Even as I write this, I’m shamelessly leeching my friend’s wi-fi to post it on the blog.  Clearly, I’ve got my priorities in order.

The first day or two was spent being resigned to trying to learn just how fucked the New York area got after the storm.  When I got tired of watching the dreariness of TV news, I turned my attention to seeking out storm porn online.  I did nothing but stare at a screen and stuff my fat fucking face.  By the end of the second day, I could feel the physical and emotional atrophy starting to take hold.

So I resolved do something I’d never done before in my entire life – go for a run.

Now, the idea of going on a run for exercise or for fun is something that is as alien to me as a W is to Jets fans.  I mean, what the fuck is that all about?  According to Velominati rules – of which I am admittedly in constant violation more often than not, but remain in reverence – one “should only run if being chased…  [and] one should only run fast enough to prevent capture.”  Makes perfect sense to me.

I decided to go on a run because I had no other choice.  I couldn’t go another day without actually getting off my fat ass to do something.  My gym had been submerged under the deluge from the Long Island Sound.  Like the idiot shithead that I am, I left every single one of my perfectly functioning bicycles (yes, I have 8 bikes; they all do different things, don’t judge) in my garage that became entirely inaccessible when the loss of power knocked out the electric garage door opener.  Real first world problem, you know.

What was left for me, but to strap on a pair and give this running thing a try.

On the morning of the third no-power day, I laced up my sneakers, plugged my ears up with old school metal (you sure as fuck can’t go running to something like The Cave Singers, can you?), ran out the door.

After 100 yards, I had to walk back 10 feet to pick my spleen up off the road.  I thought I was going to DIE.  My lungs were on fire and every joint in my legs throbbed.  After a mere 100 or so yards.  I am such a fucking fat ass, I was thoroughly disgusted with myself.

I took to walking.  After a few minutes, and having some of the sheer embarrassment drain away, I tried running again.  I lasted one block.  Fuck, now I’m really gonna die, I thought.  I got lightheaded.  I might’ve puked if I didn’t have an empty stomach at the time.

Fuck it, I walked a bit more, then ran a bit more.  Then walked a bit more, then ran a bit more.  And because I’m not only a fat piece of shit, I’m also a horribly shallow piece of shit.  When I saw someone approaching, or when there was someone passing in a car, I’d stop walking and start running.  As such as they were out of sight, I’d have to clutch my chest, and wheeze down to a walk again.  Walk, run, walk, run, fight with the earphones falling out of my head, walk, run, walk, run, fumble with earphones some more, walk, run, goddamn these fucking earphones, run some more.

Not quite the excursion I’d imagined.  After 45 minutes of this bullshit, I ended back home.  If I die now, at least I die at home, not along some suburban road like some sad fuck.

The Velominati were right.  Fuck this.

Which is why I found it comical when the big debate came up about whether or not the New York City Marathon should be run at all, coming less than a week after Hurricane Sandy dropped a huge steaming dump all over the city.

Holy shit, how dare they even think of running this thing!  This is such a crass event to hold so soon after such a devastating event!  So horrible, think of the humanity!

Mind you, these are all from people who have lights on in their houses and don’t have roofs torn off their homes.

I say, shut the fuck up and let them run this marathon.

Listen, if 35,000 assholes want to run all over New York City in the state that it’s in, fuck ‘em, let them do it.  Don’t alter any of the routes: if part of the marathon route is underwater or if there’s a power line in their way, let them run go right through it.  You want some excitement to break the dreariness of waiting for repairs to your house?  Go watch 35,000 dickheads run through raw sewage and live wires in Brooklyn.

Not good enough?  Fine, we can easily turn the whole thing into a humanitarian effort.  You wanna run this stupid race?  Fine, you have to carry 20 lbs of relief supplies and distribute them as you ferret your way through the city.  Stop being a selfish dickhead and make yourself useful, for fuck’s sake.

Thing is, cancelling the marathon or moving it to another date or place isn’t at all feasible on short notice.  Millions had already been spent – by sponsors and participants – on this event.  You don’t just toss all that out because it makes some self-righteous schmucks feel better about themselves.  The 35,000 runners have probably been training hard as hell for this – a once-in-a-lifetime event for some.  Who the fuck are you to tell them that they’ve been training for nothing because you wanna feel better about yourself.

It also doesn’t mean that just because the marathon’s in gear, absolutely no one is getting any help or disaster relief.  Trust me, people are going to continue getting help, you whiny bitches.

So, fuck it, let’s all go running after a storm.  Because really, is there really a better time to go do something remarkably stupid?