OK, so at the very end of my life, regardless of whatever I've done wrong, of how many hurts I've inflicted, of however many screw ups I've made--well, to put it this way, regardless of the sum total of my inflictions, afflictions, derelictions, righteous convictions about my multitudinous crucifixions, and even, and finally, my stingy refusals to offer benedictions...truly, no can take away the fact that I ran a 12K race in a cow suit. And that regardless of how the Grand Assessor might tally up my qualities and find me utterly common, he cannot say that many can claim such a laurel. In fact, if you put it context of the span of all of human history, back to when the human brain was a walnut of fatty-tissue sitting on top of an engorged reptile brain stem, then the number is so close to zero as to effectively be zero, and therefore, statistically, impossible to do. Yet, as you can see in the photos, I did it! Which inevitably leads us to the reality that, by running as a Guernsey cow, I have, undoubtedly, achieved the impossible. Wow.
So, I just checked the results, and I posted at 1:15:02, which shaves off 1 minute and 36 seconds from my first 12k race (Link to blog entry)! Out of about 35,000 registered participants (there were 25,000 unregistered freeloaders), my placement was 5010 overall, 3787 for men, and 1081 for my division (not sure which that was, perhaps "gradually aging dudes"?). Age grade was 45%...email me if you know what that means.
(And I just read that a 53 year old man collapsed and died at the finish line, the 5th death in 12 years--rather morbid statistics. A young man in 2003 died of dehydration, which just seems stupid considering that there were water stations every 1/2 mile or more.)I had a very fun time, and a pretty good race. My knees are not doing as badly as after the last one, I think because the new shoes are better and I'm more aware of running heal-to-toe. The race itself was perhaps to running what miniature golf is to golf, a lot of running around furry animals, naked people and miscellaneous slow-moving detritus from the cultural semi-conscious. One found themself running on sidewalks a lot, as for some reason the main street was sluggish except off to the left side. If you wanted to actually run, you had to go off roading.
Really, the race is something to make you proud of the Bay Area and San Francisco in particular. All freaks welcome, very mellow, supportive, appreciative of each other. There were live bands all along the way and many impromptu DJs, in houses along the routes, in the back of cars, and in rolling wagon thingys. My favorite was in GG Park, a group of 5 musicians dressed as Hassidic Jews, called Mushugga Beach Party (website), playing traditional Jewish tunes with a surfer bent. And they were all, including the woman, wearing long black beards. As always, I only had eyes for the drummer...
We had lunch at our favorite crepe house. No one commented on the cow in the corner.
(All photos courtesy of my lovely wife, Heather Ussery-Knight. Contact me if you are interested in art-rock events, bar mitzvahs, or farm portraiture.)
