Boulevard of broken dreams

Dear Marathon, You and me, we are so over. And let me be clear on this, it was you, not me that ruined this relationship. Yes, yes, I know I was the one who sought you out, who longed for your elusive, bad boy ways, but I’ve done you twice now, and both times you kind of sucked ass. I mean seriously, did you really think we were going to last when you repeatedly punched me in the gut for 20 straight kilometres, and joyously cackled when my legs seized up at 30 kms, and laughed at my blister-clad feet, and taunted me with every shaky step I took. Really? Yeah, no. And don’t you try to come crawling back to me with your gold trinkets, because it won’t work, I’m done, I’m moving on … with your half cousin! Who’s laughing now jerk face? Sincerely, Princess RUN FOR WATER …

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Prospect: lonely road

I should have known – I should have known! How can an inaugural marathon, in my hometown no less, possibly compare to a 40-year-old marathon in one of my most favourite cities that consistently brings out tens of thousands of people? It can’t. No possible way. Abbotsford is not Portland, not even close. So really, I shouldn’t have been too, too surprised that the upcoming marathon is turning out to be a bit of a, uhm, bush-league operation dare I say. I know I shouldn’t be hard on it, it’s in its first year, it’s raising money for a great cause, and I haven’t even run the blimy thing. It could be great for all I know. But, quite honestly, I was spoiled by Portland. Yes it rained like a bloody mofo, but the expo was pretty awesome and they really did treat you like a superstar as we should be …

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