Way to be predictable, hypothetical yet inevitable commenter.
No. That's not what the title refers to. Thirty-seven seconds is how much faster you can run a 5k race when you haven't dislocated your shoulder a mere two days before the race.
Because I ran the Pennington 5k race back in 2010, two days after dislocating my shoulder, and my time back then was 25:51. I ran it again this past Saturday and my time was 25:14. So yeah, do the math - I was thirty-seven seconds quicker.
One would think having a nondislocated shoulder would be worth more than a mere 37 second, but harsh, empirical reality proves otherwise. Unless of course there were other extenuating circumstances.
Reader, there were. (Bet you didn't see that coming1.)
They (the extenuating circumstances, that is) being that I ran about a mile-and-a-third right before the 5k race.
Now, Reader, you, having presumably already moseyed on down to that first footnote and seen that I called you, therein, a fucktard2, would be well within your rights to ask: "You ran a mile-and-a-third before a 5k race? Who are you calling a 'fucktard'? Because that there sounds pretty fucktarded."
To which I respond, "I was calling you a fucktard, Reader. Go ahead back down to FN1 and read it again if you still don't believe me."
But moreover I would respond (I won't use quotation marks here because I'm not quoting my exact words) that I didn't choose to run that pre-race mile-and-a-third. I had to, and here's why:
(Again, no quotation marks, because I'm paraphrasing myself because my original quote? Frankly? Kinda long-winded, convoluted, poorly phrased and garbled. Really, I should never extemporize; I should only read prepared statements ... kinda like Joe Biden. So I'm doing you a favor by sparing you my original wording.) I had to run it because I got to the race about 15 minutes before it was scheduled to start. And I had to park nearly a half mile away because the Pennington 5k is held on "Pennington Day", whatever that is, but it involves closing down Pennington's Main Drag for a Street Fair, which, incidentally, you run through at the start and end of the race. And so I had a grand total of 15 minutes to get from my car to the race check-in station, check-in, pick up my bib and t-shirt, waste a half minute debating whether I should run the shirt back to my car or just put it on on top of the shirt I was already wearing (or perhaps tie it around my waist like a fucktard?), decide I could make it to my car and back in the 10 minutes I had before the start - which was good because it was hot that morning and I remember thinking at about the 2-mile point in the race, "I'm glad I didn't put that race shirt on" - run to my car and drop off the shirt, and get back in time to line up at the starting line.
Of course, the race then started at about 9:20 instead of 9:15, so it turns out I could have done all of this stuff at a less frenetic pace.
Now I know some people warm up for a race by running a mile or two beforehand but Reader? I am not one of those people. Never have been; never will be. Running that extra 1.33 miles inevitably hurt me. I estimate they added at least five minutes to my finishing time because FUCK YOU, prove they didn't!
And right about now you're probably asking, "Well, as the Jewish mother said to the
Reader, I am, but I'm not sure how you know that unless you're stalking me, in which case, boy, you must be one bored motherfucker because I lead a life even more tediously uneventful than I make it sound in my blog posts. But back to my explanation - the restraining order against you can wait for the nonce.
That morning, before the race, Ian and I were watching Quick Pitch on the MLB network, QP being a show that goes over the highlights from the baseball games of the previous night. The Phils having beaten the Red Sox the night before and gone two games over .500, I was interested in seeing what they would say about my Phils on QP and I was also, as usual, interested in seeing how other teams had done, particularly other teams in our division. And then for some reason, I lost track of time and/or convinced myself that the race started at 10:00 instead of 9:15. I truthfully don't remember which it was. Maybe both. All I can say is, at some point, I notice it's 8:30 and the race starts (allegedly) in 45 minutes and I'm still at home a half hour's drive away from Pennington.
Really - that's why I was late. Told you my life was tediously uneventful.
And two years ago, I ran the race thirty-seven seconds slower. One of the Youth Services librarians at one of our branches ran it that year, too, and I beat her time by probably more than two minutes. And even though I didn't see her there this year, I checked to see if her name appeared in the results list.
She beat me by about a minute and a half.
I was 86th out of 285 (top third, anyway), with a time of 25:14, which is roughly an
1 I say that because I am provisionally assuming, here, that you're an utter fucktard.
2 If you haven't yet, well then - SPOILER ALERT! - I call you a fucktard in that first footnote. Also, too ... what the fuck are you doing reading this second footnote before that first one?
Man, "fucktard" doesn't do you justice!