Running. Tennessee. Moonshineless. No Thanks.
I like to think I’m in pretty decent shape. My resting heart rate is pretty good for one of my advanced years (usually around 54 or so), and I’ve got this snazzy device telling me how many calories I’m burning, how close my heart is to exploding, etc.
One thing I don’t do is distance run. Every distance runner I’ve seen has skinny legs. I don’t want skinny legs. Every sprinter I’ve seen looks like they could squat a bus. That’s more what I’m after. Thus, I’ve never done a 5k, 10k, and I guaren-f**king-te you I’ll never entertain a marathon (mostly because I won’t be that guy with a 26.2 sticker on his car).
Which is why this article tripped me out. This race is for a special sort of masochist. It’s frightening on multiple levels: 1) 100 miles long; 2) Mountains of Tennessee (cue the banjo music!); 3) you climb a total of 60,000 feet in elevation (this assumes you run down, up, down, up . . . add it up, and you’re higher than a 747, and not in a good way).
If this sounds like you, enter and let me know how it goes. Entering, though, is harder than you think. The race is called The Barkley Marathons, and the whole entry process is super-secret. This site posts results from last year (notice that only three people of 33 actually finished the damn thing), and this site gives you some FAQ info.
Finally, proving there’s a song for everything, enjoy this gem from Iron Maiden as you contemplate this whole prospect: