Marathon Woman

I’m a marathoner, and I’m talking not about the kind related to blisters and Gatorade, but the ones that involve forcing yourself to sit through ALL of the Leprechaun movies (I did this in 1998 with a few other brave souls, fueled on Buffalo Joe’s wings and Hooch. Remember Hooch? We had to go to both Blockbusters in town to procure all 5 Leprechaun movies. Remember Blockbuster?). There is nothing like snuggling up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn or bottle of the best wine 7-11 has to offer and burning through a season of Breaking Bad. When it comes to working my way through the boxed set of a really, really good TV show, my stamina knows no bounds.

I am lucky that I have friends just as lazy focused as I am. Every year in the month or so leading up to the season premiere of Game of Thrones, we marathon-watch the most recent season in a single day. It is a truly glorious 10 hours of vegging out, eating junk food, drinking beer, and reveling in fantasy drama. By the end of the day, you’re tired, bloated, nutritionally deprived, and desensitized to boobs and horse beheadings, but satiated. In grand tradition, as started with the Leprechaun marathon day of yore, all snacks for the day are purposely terrible crap, usually a deviation of a classic snack coated in a flavored powder to denote a theme: “Springtime” Oreos with yellow filling, “Food Truck” Pringles meant to taste like tacos or cheeseburgers, “Chicken & Waffle” Lays chips that tasted like a mix of Waffle Crisp cereal and the flavor packets from Ramen Noodles.

When we marathoned all six The Fast & The Furious movies (who’s excited for April 3rd??), the ridiculousness of the films grew in increments over the course of the day, so that by the end, it didn’t seem completely implausible that Vin Diesel could drive a car through the nose of an exploding plane and survive. When Dom, Letty, and the rest of the gang gather together for a meal, you feel like you’ve become part of the family too. Yes, Dom, I AM home!

So when marathon training season starts, go ahead and lace up your trainers and hit the pavement, but don’t look at me. I’m be over here, fluffing the pillows on the couch and brushing off the remains of Fiesta Cheezits from the front of my sweatshirt. These Step Up DVDs aren’t gonna watch themselves.

 

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