Episode 146: Beer Mile Race Report

After being asked to summarize my beer mile experience, it is inevitable that I must call upon the veritable fountain of quotations that is well, myself. If that sounded at all, in any way like the words of someone who has some shred of self-esteem, do not be taken in; the quotes I am speaking of are rarely wise, rarely funny, but rather, pithy and ironic.

Example:
"Beer... never fucking again."

These were my main thoughts while downing my fourth can of Sleeman original draught. Why Sleeman's? 'Cause it's brewed in Guelph, aka the running mecca of the Great White North, which as I would know all too well being the avid track "fan" (I use the term liberally here) that I am.

Anyways, after that beer I defaulted to anti-vomiting mode and thought no more, probably closed in like 2:00 or something godawful like that, dodging puke all down the back straight (not mine obvi... when Speedgoggles uses anti-vomit mode, it's super effective). The main reason I did not want to vomit is probably not what you think, however. I was not that I was worried about having to do a penalty lap... it was because I realized that I would have to drink even more beer, which I had already vowed to not do.

Some vows, however are made to be broken, because the remnants of that six pack were certainly not going downtown with me (insert joke about six packs and beer guts here).

My time was like somewhere north of 9, but well south of 10 minutes, third overall female (I'm female?!!?). Ack. The main thing I will take away from my first beer mile is that I probably should have followed my training guide; specifically the parts about practicing running with carbonation and chugging. My excuse is this: as an avid wine drinker I am ill-practiced at those kinds of things.


Anyways, for all the creeps out there, here are photos which prove I am a real fictional person.

Obviously before the race started.

At least I'm not trying to waft the beer...


Beer no. 2 or 3 or that number of months preggo... after this the pics got too greasy for even me to post.

After this debauchery took place, many fine liquor establishments were terrorized by some crazy bitch wearing only underwear and a purple wig. I even encountered someone I creeper added on facebook who recognized me. This, like most of the surreal experiences of my existence resulted in the interior monologue, "Shit don't phase."

Over and out for realz this time,
Speedy G.