Running From the Fat Man
The secret to motivation? Google it.
In the winter of 1999, a portly man de-motivated me from many intended evening runs. No, not the bearded one in a red suit. ...
Illustration by Jeremy Collins
In the winter of 1999, a portly man de-motivated me from many intended evening runs. No, not the bearded one in a red suit. This character went by the name of George Costanza. I'd slump into the couch after work, click on the boob tube, and watch him, Jerry, Kramer and Elaine go about their angst-ridden shenanigans.
The local Fox affiliate had the audacity to show "Seinfeld" reruns back-to-back-to-back on weeknights. Beginning at 5:30 in the evening, my couch took on the gravitational pull of Jupiter. "Get Uranus over here, boy," it would beckon. "You'll only go running when me, Newman and the Soup Nazi say so."
By the end of that winter, I resembled Costanza, too. And I had an ambitious race calendar on my plate. Something had to give.
It was spring when I discovered the Internet. I had thought it would be a passing fad, like Tae Bo or the Taco Bell Chihuahua. But I finally caught up to the times, thanks in large part to my employer or, more specifically, my employer's Internet connection.