To the distinguished committee of the 5K Dash To A Better Tomorrow (A.K.A. Terry and Janice):
Please accept the enclosed package. After my performance last Saturday, I cannot in good conscience accept this participation ribbon.
My entire life, I have wanted to be a part of something bigger than myself. When I came across a flyer for your race to cure Platzinger’s Syndrome—a condition I honestly never heard of before—I thought I finally found my purpose. I was going to be the person who conquered Platzinger’s, a hero to ailing men, women, and/or children all over the world. After my grand triumph, Platzinger’s unfamiliar-but-most-likely-serious symptoms would be a thing of the past. Before I had the chance to skim the disease’s WedMD page, I was out the door on a jog.
And immediately after that single training session, I entered an intensive three-month recovery period. My preparation was perfect. Every day I ate an entire piece of fruit (unless I forgot) and got 12 hours of uninterrupted sleep, even that time my carbon monoxide alarm went off.
I lined up at the start on race morning, ready to make history. Admittedly, I was a bit foggy about how completing 3.1 miles could wipe out the germs in a stranger’s body. But that’s a question for the eggheads in their white coats—I’m a jock, damn it! The race director came out and fired a pistol into the air, presumably to scare off any Big Pharma goons waiting in the bushes to tackle me. We were off.
I tore through the opening stretch, my legs pumping like the pistons of a Formula 1 engine. What a glorious twelve seconds that was. I didn’t realize I had slowed down until I was dry heaving inside a port-a-potty.
I kept going, but things only got worse. At one point, there was a table of dozens of Dixie cups filled with water. Did I pick the wrong one, sort of like an Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade situation? This seems entirely possible, because I felt like suddenly I aged 50 years.
So did I come close to eradicating Platzinger’s? It appears I failed to beat the 5K world record of 12:35, set by Joshua Cheptegei of Uganda. I also lost to a man in a banana costume. However, I did end up running for much, much longer than Cheptegei and the banana guy, which is almost more impressive when you think about it. But even my superior endurance wasn’t enough.
I would like to point out that not all the blame lies with me. With all due respect, you might have bitten off more than you could chew with Platzinger’s. Try going after a more minor illness next time. How about a race to cure gum recession? Or maybe mild gas? You could really do a lot of good there.
At any rate, rest assured that you won’t have to worry about seeing me again. I’m turning my full attention to a bake sale to stop global warming, which now that I say it out loud, does seem a little counterintuitive.
My bad,
The Slowpoke
P.S. I would’ve donated to your foundation, but I’m fresh out of giant checks.