As I jogged along our downtown’s main street, I noticed that it had been closed-off to traffic and was lined with red pylons. There were policemen standing along the sidewalks, and they were looking at me in an odd way.
Further down the street was a group of men wearing red nylon vests. As I approached, one of them began waving his arms at me. The following conversation ensued:
Man in red: “You’re going the wrong way!”
Sal [angrily ripping the headphones from his ears]: “What?!”
Man in red [louder]: “You’re going the wrong way!!”
Sal: “What the fricky-frack-ferris-wheel are you talking about?!!!”
Man in red: “The Marchamalo Marathon! You’re supposed to be running in the other direction!”
Between this incident, the cigarette moocher, and the unending stream of lost drivers in need of directions…I must be the Inspector Clouseau of the jogging world.
I’m beginning to understand why people buy treadmills.
Happened to me on a bike once – thundering through a petit village in France. Allez les anglais being the general opinion as I did the sensible thing and joined the onlookers for a glassawine.