I want to write about this weekend’s Festival of Books experience, but before I go all nerdtastic on you, and continuing the “Where Are They Now” aspect to my posts lately (Michelle is working on an update about her mom for all y’all), I have to give excited props to my former roommate Ray, who spent yesterday running the OK City Marathon.
Dan. I want you to guess what Ray Prewitt did this morning.
Okay. He stole a boat and —
Hmm. Okay, he was making this television show about a —
He has this chicken and —
I am literally out of ideas, particularly if this has nothing to do with a chicken.
Today, as Ray rehashed the details to me, we realized that we were both lapped by the same hunchback. Which is awesome.
“Pam, I have to write about this, because I have to warn the world. Never run a marathon.”
“I know, Ray. I know.”
“Lady, it’s all your fault I did it in the first place. I figured, well, if Pam did something, it must be a good idea.”
“No, Ray. It hurts. I never tell people to run a marathon or write a book. They both hurt and take way too long.”
“But thank God there’s no second draft of a marathon.”
“My friend Andy once said to me, ‘I couldn’t possibly be interested in running one mile, much less twenty-six of them in a row.’ And I said, ‘That’s because you like yourself, and have nothing to prove.'”
“Oh, lady. Ain’t that the truth.”
Ray wrote about his experience, and boy can I relate. … except for the part where he likens the entire thing to being involved in extreme porn.