Or the Chicago Marathon, as it’s more commonly referred to, tore through our neighborhood yesterday morning.
We awoke to the sounds of cheering, drum-pounding and the not-so-soothing stylings of Kanye and Jay-Z (that shit cray!).
So we decided to head out into the madness and walk along the route for bit, enjoying the smugness and relief that comes from being people who do not sign up to participate in logic-defying activities, such as running 26.2 miles. Because why? Why would you do that?
But good for these people. I salute them. They’re for sure way more entitled to justify over-priced Lululemon outfits than I am. So they have that going for them.
Gatsby, on the other hand, could not fathom the thought process that must have occurred when these people signed up for this.
And the ghost of 1970s Fat Elvis was there to encourage the stragglers and shoo them away from the light.
Congrats to everyone who finished! You’re done! It’s over! That’s definitely something to celebrate.