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I'm not crying, you're crying.
Uhh...shouldn't we be running and not ambling forward like cows out to pasture?
Wow, where have you guys been all my life? Want to eat 13.1 pizzas at my place after this?
I think the pounding of my feet on the pavement has unhinged my brain.
I appreciate the support but why would you remind me of my mortality at a time like this? Or—even worse—that I'm only at mile 7???
This is not sweat on my face, it's Gatorade.
WHY IS IT SO FUN TO LITTER?
Ok, I'm not weighed down by 60 years of regret and bad knee cartilage, I can do this.
Where are all the cars? Probably eaten by apocalyptic zombies or something. Better keep running!
Even if they're only technically there to see their friend/family member/significant other run past them for eleven seconds, it feels like they're there for you.
You at mile 6: "HAHAHAHA I LOVE RUNNING HAHAHAHA!!!!!"
You at mile 12: "It's been mile 12 for the past 34 years. I can't remember what my family looks like. I think I had a name once."
Especially the ones that can keep a smile on their face even after sweaty, tired runners spill full cups of Gatorade on them for three hours.
I've never been so happy to see one of these guys in my entire life.
"Yeah, I'm not really feeling this whole running thing. I'll catch up with you later or something." — the soles of your feet.
Who designed the human body? Seriously, who?
Oh, perfect! Now I can nurse that satanic demon that requires blood to live.
Even if you collapse into a cramp-filled knot directly after.
I literally slept with mine on, which I don't recommend because it sure does choke the winning spirit right out of you.
They're not super hero capes, as you (I) may have thought.
Come to me, you little salty meat stick from heaven.
Something tells me I should be hydrating but I'm too busy having a love affair with this beer.
You mean I get to run 13.1 miles TWICE? SIGN ME UP!
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