Yesterday morning the television caught my attention. It was, oddly enough, Live! with Regis and Kelly. I thought I had heard something about running, and stopped in my tracks. The TV was showing a cluster of reporters standing in a field deep in the heart of west nowhere, America. There was a figure on the horizon, who rapidly turned into none other than Dean Karnazes! It turns out Regis and his lovely sidekick were covering Dean’s latest ill-concieved but awe-inspiring adventure.
I was equal parts surprised and delighted to see an ultramarathoner receiving actual media attention. I guess there had to be a break somewhere in the parade of meritless, vapid celebrities, but to see one of my heroes on TV felt awesome. Is this how football fans feel every week?
My spirits soared. Daytime television had spurned its usual oppression of the human psyche and exposed a sedentary people to their own potential. Maybe viewers would get a glimpse at the greatness they can achieve. Or perhaps they would gain new sympathy for our obscure sport and appreciate our athletes the way they do their chubby baseball playersndash; if only for a moment.
My soon-to-be Mother-in-law was watching with her brow furrowed. I could see her mind hard at work. Here was the reflection I dared hope for, perhaps occurring in livingrooms all across America. She drew in a deep breath, and I strained to hear what inspiration she had drawn from this segment.
“What are those things on his nipples?” she said.
Maybe I was being unrealistic.Share on Facebook