MILE 20\n\nAlas, the runner's high would be meaningless without the runner's low, and you feel that now as surely as you feel your nipples burn from the the friction of a thousand wool sweaters. Why are you here? What's the point of it all? It hurts! IT HURTS SO BAD! And there's still 6.2 fucking miles to go. Fucking fuck! This is masochistic. You never should have listened to Dave and his endless encouragement. That bastard. But wait, who's that, stranded on the side of the road, his eyes and ears leaking kryogenix (tm) fluid. It's him! It's Dave! \n\n[[Stop and say 'hey!'|Mile 21 Death]]\n\n[[Run on to spite him. The gods of Irony and Suffering will appreciate this.|Mile 21]]\n\n

MILE 21\n\nBwahahaha! The death of an old and trusted friend never felt so good! You run on elated, dancing upon the suffering of others. You chortle to yourself. Isn't that why rich people do things like run marathons or get tattoos? To experience a little of the pain and suffering so much of the world experiences every day. But not you! You feel fan-fucking-tastic! Only one problem.\n\nYour legs. \nJust. \nStopped. \n\nThey are not moving. This is it, The Wall. Your body is switching from burning its kryogenix (tm) fluid to its fat reserves like brain tissue. You can't move. Your brain needs energy to make your muscles move, but your muscles are sapping what little energy your brain still has! It's a paradox, and you're too tired to comprehend the brilliance of it. The darkness closes in, you the wolves descend. It's all over... \n\n[[But wait!|Mile 22]]

MILE 22\n\nWho should appear but that righteous runner of the road, that devilishly devious Dave! He slaps your ass (business as usual) and pours a fresh supply of kryogenix (tm) fluid into your maw. You soak up the energy and hop up, eager to finish this race and slap the grin off of Dave's face. \n\n"Where did you get the kryogenix (tm) fluid?" you ask. "It was top notch!"\n\n"One of my friends stopped to help me and I harvested his fluids! He's dead now!"\n\nOh gods of Irony and Suffering, you are cruel yet amusing masters. \n\n"You want some more?" good Ol' Dave the murderer asks. \n\n[[I am a Marathoner Master, and I... must... FEEED!|Mile 23]]\n\n[[No thanks. Some of us want to win this race with our scruples intact|Mile 23 Death]]

MILE 23\n\nYou greedily slurp the fluids of a dead friend and run on and On And ON. You are so close now. So close. In this last leg of the race the insectile Kenyan racers buzz about you. Their legs are longer, their muscles leaner. You're pretty sure they have an extra joint in their leg like a T-Rex. Run carefully my friend. \n\nAnd then, from the sky, it descends, the dreaded Mother Ship(s)! It's time for the LAZER MILE! Here we go.\n\n[[Follow the line of insectile Kenyans|Mile 24]]\n\n[[Fuck 'em. Just focus on the lazers.|Mile 24 Death]]

MILE 24\n\nYou fall in behind the Kenyans. They nimbly dodge pink and yellow lazer beams that melt the flesh of the lesser men and women running around you. The Mother Ship(s) hum, and those not running with the Kenyans stare into the beings that just might have spawned the human race. Their eyes go wide as the lazers eviscerate them, like wire through cheese. There's blood, so much blood. And then, soon as they appeared, the Motherships are gone and the sky is clear. In the distance you hear the horn of Belarius, herald of the end. You finished the LAZER MILE! The insectile Kenyans pick up their pace.\n\n[[Keep up!|Mile 25 Death]]\n\n[[Good luck, you superhumans you! I'll see you at the finish line!|Mile 25]]

MILE 25\n\nThe insectile Kenyans race ahead on papery wings and springloaded muscles. You fall into an easy pace. Right foot- excrutiating pain of your knee leaking kryogenix (tm) fluid, left foot- the feeling of a thousand ants injecting poison into your nipples. Right, left, again and again. Life is simple and torturous. Like any pious Marathoner Master you beleive this is right. \n\nYou approach the final aid station. The promise bovine derived steroids for your nipples and fresh injections for your knee. \n\n[[Embrace technology.|Mile 26 Death]]\n\n[[Its almost over, and I intend to suffer.|Mile 26]]

MILE 26\n\nThe pain is a part of you, and indeed why you agreed with ol' murderous Dave to become a Marathoner Master. You embrace it as your own, and hope to one day compare this pain to the pain a mother feels as she ritualistically slices open one of the cows the children of the wealthy are grown in. \n\nBut this no time to wax philosophic! This race is almost over! Past the sky cathedral, and dome of eternal glass you see the finish line! Nothing can stop you now! YOU ARE THE NEXT MARATHONER MASTER!\n\n[[Sprint it out!|Mile 262]]\n\n[[Slow and steady wins the race.|Mile 262 Death]]

DEATH BY BUNNY!\n\nThe rabbit extends his foot to you. He holds a soft boiled cadbury egg. It glistens with rich kryogenix (tm) fluid and also fat. You reach out for it but the dude in the rabbit costume yanks it away. You stumble and fall and the Titanox alloy in your knee sparks and ignites the kryogenix (tm) fluid leaking from your wounds. \n\nYou go up in a blaze of electrolytes. The bunny extends another soft boiled cadbury egg to the still living runners. He's hungry for more death. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

STOP THE VOICES I WANT TO GET OFF\n\nYou claw at your eyes and ears, trying to stop the pandas from being eaten. But alas, it ain't happening bub. Even though you claw away those soft organic grapes, the pandas keep being eaten. Why did you insist in the the Oculus 3rd eye? You can never be blind to anything, ever again! \n\nYou vomit and cry a little. One the pandas pats you on the back. He offers you some water, a blanket, and a hug. \n\nAw well, you can purge your system and [[teleport back to the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

DEATH BY BOREDOM! \n\nOh no all you have is Willie Nelson! Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if it was //On the Road Again// actually that seems pretty appropriate, but instead you only have 420 copies of //Always on my Mind//! You try to keep up the pace but you fall asleep running and dream of yodeling, and pot smoking cowboys. You wake up on a farm with needles for fingers, and a turn table instead of a fat gut. The braided demon lowers your hand onto a scratchy record and you spend your days as a record player. But hey, it's a living! \n\nAt least Willie beleives in vacation time, maybe you can become a Marathoner Master [[next year.|Start]] \n\n

MILE 1\n\nToday is the big day! It has been a fortnight since you first clanked glasses of kryogenix (tm) fluid with Dave and agreed to become a Marathoner Master! Thousands of people hop back and forth, eager to make it to the LAZER MILE and not be caught by the hounds. \n\nThe cannon fires and you're off through the streets of downtown New Philafornia! Just 26.2 miles of mind numbing exhaustion and you too can call yourself the Marathoner Master! After months and months of training, the first mile flies by quickly. Wait, you did remember to train for months and months even though it was hot and stuff, right? \n\n[[Of course I trained. Every prospective Marathoner Master does that kind of thing.|Mile 2]]\n\n[[Train? I'm young and I'm beatiful. Training is for octagenarians and vegetarians.|Mile 2 Death]]

CRUSHED SIMPLY CRUSHED\n\nYou conserve your energy and maintain the pathetically slow pace you've been setting for the entire race. Grandmothers and small children race past, and more than a couple cybertronic rabbits. A no armed man in a wheel chair runs over your heel and you stumble and fall. The prospective Marathoner Masters sprint their last .2 miles and crush you underfoot. The crowd cheers. This is why they came: CARNAGE!\n\nAnd you were so close! \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

HALF NAKED CAFFIENATED MASS\n\nYou wade into the writhing mass of people, all trying to unfasten their athletic habiliments and urinate. Why did you drink that double double espresso bomb? You find your way to the trough, evacuate your bowels and turn to leave, but there's no escape. Try as you might to wade through the droves of desperate urinators, you don't make it back to the race until it's over. \n\nAh well. There's always [[next year.|Start]]

STARSHIP TROOPER\n\nYou push your legs faster. You can finish this with the best of them. \n\n"Don't try it!" yells ol' murderous Dave. But you ignore him, high on kryogenix (tm) fluid and a chance to make history. But their pace is inhuman. Their papery wings let them skip ahead in leaps and bounds, and their extra jointed knees remove the concussive blasts of the concrete in ways yours never will. The pace is too much, your bones rattle themselves apart, and you fall into a glob of gelatonous mucus that the street cleaners will have to sweep up and sell to the less fortunate for a healthy profit. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

BAND AIDS OF ASPHYXIATION\n\nYou snatch a bandaid from the aid station, and attempt to apply it while running. The adhesive paste sticks to everything but your bloody nip. Soon your hands are stuck together, then your eyelids, your molars, oh god(s) you can't see a thing! \n\nYou fall from the path into a cool cool brook. The water feels wonderful on your burning nips. After a lovely nap you try to rise but find that you can't. Leaches are pulling you back into the water, and you know what? It feels great. \n\nYou live out your life as a host for the leaches in the cool cool brook. Maybe they'll let you try to be a Marathoner Master [[next year.|Start]]

body {\n background-color: lightblue;\ncolor: black;\nfont-size: 16px;\n}\n

BLINDED BY LAZERS! \n\nYou turn your head skyward in an effort to focus on the lazers eminating from the Mother Ship(s). They blast runners from the course in wonderfully colorful clouds of evaporated blood and brain fluid. It's so beautiful! You run, watching the show, sure you'll be fine, but then your feet are churning in the air. They got you in their cursed tractor beam! They beam you up and implant you with a whole mess of things. There's no way you can finish with that thing there! Just look at the swelling. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point,|Mile 14]] hopefully free of implants.\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

HARVESTED BY METALLIC SPIDER PEOPLE\n\nYou get in line for a smoothie and a kind woman with 8 metallic eyes offers you a seat. \n\n"Well don't mind if I do!" you chortle. Soon you're being wheeled around in a wonderfully choreographed wheelchair dance. What a lovely event! You feel rested, refreshed and ready to run. You try to push yourself to your feet but something stops you. There's a spike dug into your neck, connected to your spine. It's sucking out your kryogenix (tm) fluid! They must have attached it during the big finale!\n\nThey harvest your fluids and taxiderm your body as bait for more prospective Marathoner Masters. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

DEATH BY DEHYDRATION\n\nYou, for some inexplicable reason, say 'no' to the beer, and come to understand what all those corpses were about. Your body dries up from the inside. You're out of kryogenix (tm) fluid! Beer, delicious beer, would have been the next best thing! It would've numbed your pain and rehydrated your husk of a body, but instead you hear one of your brittle bones snap and you crash to the ground. One of the alcoholic Marathoner Masters tromps through the boneyard, their fat gut bounces. \n\nMaybe someone will inject you with kryogenix (tm) fluid and you can race [[next year.|Start]]

MARATHONER MASTER!

YOU AIN'T EVOLVED LIKE HIM\n\nYou try to keep up with the insectile Kenyan and for a breif moment you surge ahead of the crowd, muscles burning kryogenix (tm) fluid faster than ever before! He looks at you and smiles, his face is radiant, and the extra set of mandibles in his throat make his smile fill you with joy/terror. But then his papaery wings unfold and knock you to the ground with a gust of wind. Before you can stand you are crushed under the feet of a thousand prospective Marathoner Masters. I guess you survive, if you can call //that// living. \n\nAh well, there's always [[next year.|Start]]

OH YUM CUPCAKES\n\nYou push the man with the cupcakes off the track, into a back ally where no one can see the carnage. You devour the cupcakes, paper and all and expel the excess from your gills like a parrot fish eating coral. But it's not enough. THERE'S NEVER ENOUGH CUPCAKES! You smell some sugar on his fingers, and frosting on his breath.\n\nYou wake the next morning, clothes gones, flesh pleasently sticky. Your lawyer knows the routine, this'll be dropped to aggrivated pastry-theft like the other charges. But oh god(s) you missed the race! \n\nAh well, there's always [[next year.|Start]]

CRAMP BALLS!\n\nYou forgot to train? What do you think you are, cybertronic? You cramp up after like 1.1 miles duh! They don't even bother to put your lumpy excuse for a body into an electrolyte tank.\n\nYou constrict into a tiny ball, trying to open a water bottle, like the last atomic squirrel clinging to the last atomic acorn. \n\nNo commemorative plaque for you! \n\nAw well, there's always [[next year.|Start]]

MILE 19\n\nRide that wave of magiX! You hear soft fanfare blare ahead of you. Is someone playing //Jamz by Sousa//? Convinced that the music is just around the corner, you push on, only to find mind more endless concrete, more runners, more kryogenix (tm) fluid stands manned by cyborgs. Surely your old trombotic insturctor is playing your favorite Dub-march-step! He's returned from Mars! But wait a minute. Wouldn't he have sent you a telegram?\n\n[[Naw, he's a busy man, I best go follow him!|Mile 20 Death]]\n\n[[I think I'm coming down off the runner's high.|Mile 20]]\n

MILE 18\n\nSweet citrus strengthens your stride and despite the alliteration, you run on, empowered! The corpses are still thick, but the smell's not so bad. The crowds have given way to packs of wolves, and they make short work of the failed Marathoner Masters. The stench fades, and you start to feel the proverbial runner's high. It's kind of awesome! Where once you saw wolves chewing on the corpses of failures, now you see puppies knawing on the corpses of pandas! \n\n[[Pandas? Stop the hallucinations, I'm here for exercise.|Mile 19 Death]]\n\n[[Oh HELL YESS!! This is better than snorting kryogenix (tm) fluid!|Mile 19]]

THE BORG TAKE YOU\n\nThe technocrats and electripublicans sit you in a chair and see to your wounds. They replace your nipple with an ergonomic pleasure sensor, sever your leg below the knee and install a non-unbalancer nub, just like the actors use in the movies. You stand to leave, but your eagerness to finish the race is gone. Another member of the Borg has already completed this task, you must add new knowledge to the mainframe. Like finding out what dirt tastes like. That sounds good. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

MILE 15 \n\nPush it! Push it hard! Though your knee is starting to leak kryogenix (tm) fluid, you can do this! The trick will be to not make any stupid decisions. From this point on, even the slightest mistep could result in your immidate/eventual demise from either Marathoner Master related injuries and/or shame. You must focus, keep your eyes on the pavement and not break your stride. Even the slightest hesitation could cause that kryogenix (tm) fluid to ignite and then this would all be for nothing!\n\nBut wait! Is that a giant easter bunny offering hugs? \n\n[[Surely the Easter Bunny offers me no harm.|Mile 16 Death]]\n\n[[Pay no attention to the stupid rabbit! It's clearly a distraction!|Mile 16]]

MILE 14\n\nThis is when shit gets weird. You're the wheat that has been seperated from the chaf. You are the tiny metal box of air blasted forward atop a series of missiles into space. You are the Bacon of the BLT, the sperm that seeks the egg, the mad leprachaun following the rainbow to its end for that box of goldschlagger. \n\nMore power to you my friend. \n\n[[Feel the Power|Mile 15]]

MILE 17\n\nYou run past the corpses, at first dodging the orange peels, but then embracing them. The citric burn of their juice is nothing to the feeling of your body literally eating itself as you push yourself ever further in this suicidal attempt at earning a trophy you don't even have to come in first place to win. You laugh at those who think they can harm you so easily. You laugh loud and pure and the deep rumble shakes your ribs and causes you more pain. You feel like the man from those Bat-Male (tm) movies who got a cell phone sewn inside of his guts, but hey at least, like the Black Stallion (tm) you can run! But what to do about these orange slices?\n\n[[Gobble one on the run!|Mile 18]]\n\n[[Swat them away like Bat-Male does to criminal activity.|Mile 18 Death]]

MILE 16\n\nNice work ignoring that stupid fucking guy in a bunny suit! \n\nYour legs churn, your stomach curdles and you push onward, onward, onward! The dead are beginning to pile up, and you must deftly manuever to avoid getting snagged in their entrails. Up ahead there's a fork in the road. One path has a smoothie factory, an industrial massage complex, and an entire pool of kryogenix (tm) fluid. It is clean and filled with smiling, vapid people sitting down. The other path is darker. The corpes are stacked on the side of the road, and spectators are throwing orange slices at the wounds of the people in the street. But which to take? \n\n[[The refreshing kryogenix (tm) pool.|Mile 17 Death]]\n\n[[Follow the money... er... the corpses. Follow the corpses!|Mile 17]]

MILE 11\n\n"Over the meadow and through the woods to grandmother's fucking crib" screams in your ear and you run on. You're feeling OK. Not great, but OK. Your nips still hurt but are now down to a dull ache, your knee is throbbing more and more by the minute, but you're sure it can last 14 more miles. \n\nSome bros on the side of the road have plastic cups of ice cold, delicious beer. Beyound their tent lie thousands of cups and hundreds of marathoners, dead, with cracked lips and terror on their sunken eyes. But there's no time to puzzle these clues! \n\n[[Grab a beer!|Mile 12]]\n\n[[Keep Running. My body is a temple.|Mile 12 Death]]\n

MILE 10\n\nThe vaseline mixes with the blood, and though it stings, it seems to lessen the flow of blood and kryongenix (tm) fluid. A man in a chicken mask runs past you. People fling gelatanous cubes at you and you consume them, thankful they taste of ham sandwiches and dumplings, and not that horrendous roast beef. What's left of your mind wanders. You've been running for well over an hour now, and you're not even half done. This is going to be a long one. \n\nGood thing you brought some music on your porto-player-505. You spool that sucker up and put on\n\n[[Some driving beats yo.|Mile 11]]\n\n[[Willie Nelson?|Mile 11 Death]]

MILE 13\n\nNow, the strong are seperated from the weak. You have run a stammering th-th-thirteen miles. Most of the people here are about to quit, and go enjoy great things like food and chairs. You could do that, and get this, NO ONE BUT YOU would care. It happens all the time. You could be a *half* Marathoner Master! *half* Alright! That sounds OK!\n\n[[Yes, yes it does.|Mile 14 Death]]\n\n[[I will have my day of glory in the hot, hot sun.|Mile 14]]

MILE 12\n\nThe cool, refreshing beer parches your thirst. It hydrates you, provides you with replacement carbs for those tired legs of yours, and even numbs the ache in your knee. Beer built the pyramids after all. Yay beer! \n\nYou watch as arrogant vegans and religious fundamentalists decline the beverage and succumb to dehydration and malnourishment. Without beer, their skin fissures, their veins crack and dried blood pours out, like the iron sands of a Martian storm. The dried bones of the dead crunch beneath your feet. You run through a cloud of dust made of failed Marathoner Masters and emerge victorious. You sip your beer. \n\n[[Onward! Hallucinations and all!|Mile 13]]

THAT MURDEROUS KRYOGENIX (tm) VAMPIRE!\n\nYou approach Dave with an outstretched hand. \n\n"I never would've been here if not for you. How can I help you?"\n\nHe says something through his cracked lips, but its too quiet. You can't hear him. You lean in closer, closer. Quick as a mantis shrimp, he punches you in the gut. You collapse. It looks likes the gods of Irony and Suffering will get their sad sad chuckle! \n\nHe rolls your over with his extra apendages, sucks the kyrogenix (tm) fluid from your spine, and kicks your husk of a body from the course. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr maybe someone will rehydrate you and you can try again [[next year.|Start]]

MILE 26.2\n\nYou sprint ahead, jostling old ladies and knocking children from you path. You totally just shaved a few seconds off your race! And it only cost the dreams of those around you!\n\nYou cross the finish line, head held high, and finally stop running. Someone gives you a banana and some water. Wait, where is the kryogenix (tm) fluid? Where's the Sky Cathedral? Why does your wife look pregnant? Surely you're not part of the working class! \n\nA Kenyans holds his sides and tries to catch his breath. His wings are folded so small as to appear nonexistant, his legs contain none of the extra joints. \n\nYou scratch your chest and see that yes, your nipple was definitely bleeding, so surely it wasn't all a hallucination? Was it?\n\nA decidedly non-cyborg volunteer places a medal around your neck and ushers you forward to collect your Tshirt. \n\n//So this is the world through the eyes of a Marathoner Master?// \n\nIts looks no different but you know it holds hidden truths. You know superhumans hide among us. You know not to get lost staring at the sky, for the clouds harbor lazers. You know that we're all just a few sips of water from turning into dust, or if we're really lucky, kryogenix (tm) fluid for a friend in need. \n\nCONGRATULATIONS YOU ARE A MARATHONER MASTER! \n\nIt doesn't get any better than that! \nIf you want to [[play again|Start]] then wow that is cool.\n\nDon't forget to sign up your friends to be a Marathoner Master! Suffering, like your grandmother, loves company. \n\nTHANKS FOR PLAYING AND REMEMBER NO ONE CAN TAKE THIS FROM YOU!\nYOU ARE THE GREATEST **MARATHONER MASTER** I HAVE HEARD OF IN THIS TOWN!

*half* MARATHONER MASTER *half*\n\nYou follow those content to complete half of one the items on their bucket lists, and cross the finish line. The cybertronic volunteers give you bananas and fluids and you feel refreshed. \n\nBut as the months go on, the elation of being a *half* Marathoner Master *half* begins to fade. When you tell people you ran 13.1 miles, a totally respectable, reasonable and above all healthy distance to run, they look away or turn the conversation to the latest fads in computer science. Part of you is happy (the lazy part), but part of you feels like you missed out on the really fucking weird part of the race. Like what ever happened to that insectile Kenyan? And wasn't there something about a LAZER MILE?\n\nStill, you can proud! You're a *half* Marathoner Master *half* and there's always [[next year.|Start]]

WHY SO SERIOUS?\n\nYou deftly swat away the orange peels, a sneer of malice on your face. What are they trying to do to your city? Flood it with crime and orange peels? Who would so such a thing? It doesn't even make sense. It's go to be some kind of a joke...\n\n"Do you know where I got these scars?" An orange tosser with a lovely if not horrendously scarred smile and a purple jacket asks you. "I had a friend who was a Marathoner Master just like you, and I tried to point out that Marathoner Masters were ultimatelty just ego stroking narcisists."\n\n"I see where this is going!" you say but he yells, "A ball point banana!" and shanks you something good. You die, but another, more important character lived. \n\nAnd besides you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

SLAP HANDS!\n\nYou veer from the crowd, looking for that guy who was your- cousin maybe? The droves of people's tongues loll out as they cheer for you. \n\n"Slap hands!" they scream. "Slap hands!"\n\nYou oblige them, slapping sweaty palm after sweaty palm, but there's no end to the hand slapping. You try to take your hand away and run back into the Marathoner Masters, but they sieze you and slap you everywhere. Nothing is safe, not your septum nor your cuticles. You pass out, exhilerated from the encouragement, but still not Marathoner Master \n\nAh well, there's always [[next year.|Start]]

MR FOPSON IS THAT YOU?\n\nYou run up to your old trombotic instructor and demand he play //Hadyn's Hiemen//. \n\n"But I don't play the trombotic! I don't even know what that is! I'm just an old man trying to shop for sexy pair of new legs who got stranded by these infernal Marathoner Masters."\n\n"Why did you give me an A- Mr. Fopson?" You demand and shake him by his beard. But wait! Mr. Fopson never had a beard! Mr Fopson was a woman! You try to explain this to the genentically modified peacekeepers but they cuff you and send you home in the hovercopter just the same. \n\nAw well, you can [[teleport back to the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

MILE 4\n\nYou surge past the screaming fans, the doting mothers, the guy throwing aluminum packets of nutrient dense kryogenix (tm) fluid at the runners. You packed some of that, so you don't have to fight to get any of his. You do feel the rumble of hunger though. You feel for a packet. Hmmm. There's dopamine flavor, mother's milk, and roast beef, but to consume nutrient(s) now, or later?\n\n[[Consume|Mile 5]]\n\n[[Empathize with those who are actually starving and actually have to run to get around instead of for fun and a fucking t-shirt.|Mile 5 Death]]

MILE 9\n\nThat minor injury you got seventeen years ago in your left knee is starting to act up, funny you've never noticed that before, even though you definitely ran 9 miles before. You run 9 miles for breakfast. Breakfast sounds good. Maybe some pancakes, bacon, a small Europeon country's GDP in scrambled eggs, a bage- HOLY GOD(s) YOUR NIPPLES ARE BLEEDING! \n\nThey told you to tape up. They told you to go shirtless. You shoulda listened. Sure, your nips never bled during training, but now they're gushing blood and kryongenix (tm) fluid like your mom reading //The Robot Diaries// after only 9 measly miles. \n\n[[Vaseline.|Mile 10]]\n[[Sterile adhesive strips.|Mile 10 Death]]

MILE 8\n\nYay for support! After a pathetic half mile your primary signigant falls away, and you run on, elated. Nothing can stop you now! \n\n[[And nothing does.|Mile 9]]

STARVATION'S NEVER FUN\n\nFor some reason, you resist the urge to feed and feel the acid in your stomach start to spread. Oh no it just burned through your aluminum reinforced stomach lining! In a wash of mild discomfort you feel your liver and splein liquify. Starving people don't run marathons you silly first-worlder! \n\nAh well, there's always [[next year.|Start]]

DON'T SAY NO TO A MURDERER!\n\nDave nods indulgently as you decline. You run for a few more centimiles, but soon you're starting to tire. Damn these scruples! Why do all the most socially accepted, morally righteous actions, like going to church, voting, or declining a fresh supply of kryogenix (tm) fluid, always end so terribly? \n\nYour pace hiccups and Dave is upon you. His probuscus extends into your spine and the tiny reserve of energy you were saving is his. \n\nAw well, you can [[respawn at the halfway point.|Mile 14]]\n\nOr try again [[next year.|Start]]

J. Darris Mitchell

MILE 3\n\nNo peeing for you! You've got a crown to win, or some bananas or something. Actually you paid to be out here, and there's no way you're going come in first place, so better not to focus on the winning. Better to focus on the screaming families and adoring fans, here to cheer on their loved ones. They hold signs and banners, with heartfelt slogans. Be it "Go Julia!" or "You can do it Brian!" the deep meaningful thought that went into crafting these magix marker posters is undeniable. \n\nWait, is that a sign for you?\n\n[[Cut across the hordes to read the wise words!|Mile 4 Death]]\n\n[[I got a race to win. My loved ones are ignoring me today anyway.|Mile 4]]

MILE 2\n\nThe streets undulate with thousands of prospective Marathoner Masters. You crest a hill and the mass of runners stretches out before you, like the world's longest most athletic sleeping bag, unrolled to through the streets of New Philafornia. All your friends that are sleeping in their warm beds right now are wrong. This is going to be awesome! The scent of coffee and urine is strong in the air. People line up for the urinex processors. \n\n[[Join them?|Mile 3 Death]]\n\n[[Keep running. I'll need those fluids later.|Mile 3]]

MILE 5\n\nYou rip open the aluminum packet of slime and breifly wonder how long it would have lasted if unopened. Centuries seems a reasonable guess. You squeeze it into your mouth and immidiately regret purchasing the roast beef flavor. It's all gravy and chunks of what must legally be meat. Where are the spices? The nutrient(s)? Still it satisfies on a primal level and you feel your muscle(s) bulge in ancitipation. \n\nYou're now at the most Southern point of the race, and turn back north. An insectile Kenyan races past you, pistons firing underneath leathery skin. Double jointed knees bounding ahead. \n\n[[Keep up!|Mile 6 Death]]\n\n[[Run the race at your own pace.|Mile 6]]

HEY! THIS IS THEIR DAY TOO!\n\nYou slap away his/her hand and mumble something about not breaking stride and blah blah blah. But as you're rambling on like a big jerk a locust flies into your flapping maw of a mouth and you start to choke. Your primary signigant watches, masking his/her amusement behind an ivory mask of indifference. Your eyes bulge, you could really use a pat on the back about now! \n\n"Wouldn't want to break your stride," the ivory mask says and vanishes from your life. \n\nThat's kinda sad, and you'll never meet someone like him/her again, but you hey you can still try to be a Marathoner Master [[next year!|Start]]

MILE 7\n\nNo sugar high today! You're soon to be a Marathoner Master! You spiral up the sidewalk and who should you see but your signifigant other(s). \n\n"Go you!" They scream, "Go you!" \n\nYour primary signigant sounds a claxon and the racers around you cheer. This is your moment! This is your time to shine! Your primary signigant runs out and reaches for your hand. \n\n"You are running!" s/he says. "You are running for an extended length, and I will show my support by running too!"\n\nS/he reaches out for your hand.\n\n[[Hand hold!|Mile 8]]\n[[Shit, you gonna mess up my rythm!|Mile 8 Death]]

MILE 6 \n\nYou bow gracefully as the insectile Kenyan rushes past. He leaves a wake in the runners that slowly calms, like the red red water of a narwal's tank after it gores its trainer. You fall into a familiar pace. You trained for this bitch and you are going to master it. People are going to remember you as one of the (hundreds of) thousands that have pushed their bodies past its healthy limit for fun. You have sacrificed your love of cheese, Sunday mornings, and even lazer night for a chance at immorta-\nWait, are those cupcakes? \n\n[[I'll take two chocolate and strawberry to wash it down.|Mile 7 Death]]\n\n[[Uh... no thanks, I was just thinking about sacrifice and honor and- hey will you be here in like four hours?|Mile 7]]