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  • The Troubadour
    [Good Aftermorning and welcome to Almost-but-not-quite Afterwednesday. Today is still--so help me--a Close Positivity Wednesday of the Third Kind. The First
    Message 1 of 1 , May 11, 2011
      [Good Aftermorning and welcome to Almost-but-not-quite Afterwednesday.
      Today is still--so help me--a Close Positivity Wednesday of the Third Kind.
      The First Kind is fact, the Second Kind is myth, so this must be that
      "other" kind ;-). And today's "awardee," Marshall Ulrich, was nominated
      awhile back by Greg Pressler, who now has my thanks. And so here, then, is
      your Close Encounter of the First-Class Kind regarding our man Marshall:

      Not too many men, interesting or not, put all their supplies in a modified
      baby-buggy and proceed to run across America. There's, first of all, not
      all that many men whose supplies will fit inside a baby-buggy.

      Not all that many men put all their supplies in a baby-buggy and crisscross
      across the desert twenty times either: THE hottest, most baddest-ass desert
      in America, also known as Death Valley, or "Badwater."

      He has run more than 2,990 miles across the Death Valley desert, more than
      anyone, more than even those Roswell, New Mexican aliens--and other even
      newer Mexican aliens--and they were all supposedly traveling by spaceship.

      It is not known whether or not all their supplies fit in the spaceship. But
      the fact that they're dead--and acting like museum exhibits inside Hangar
      P-3, Building 84--argues that they dehydrated long before he did.

      He's accumulated a few world records as well. More official Badwater
      Ultramarathon finishes than anybody, winning the race four different times,
      and always going from lowest point to highest in the Continental U.S. during
      the process. And all without a spaceship.

      Although in 1991, he *must* have flown from that lowest-to-highest point
      because he set the still-unbroken fastest time full ascent record at some 33
      hours and 54 minutes. They're still talking about that one--on Mars.

      He's written a book. Enough said. Most American athletes of this caliber
      cannot punctuate or spell. Some can't even speak English.

      And isn't it fitting that his book be called "Running on Empty"?

      It must be true, then, that everything he had crammed inside that buggy was
      stuff, like his young, that he couldn't eat.


      "I don't always push a modified non-motorized golf-bag cart across deserts;
      but when I do, I prefer that my grandchildren be somewhere else. Stay hot,
      my friends."

      ( 00 )

      See (and hear) some originals:


      Also here:

      [and thanks to UltraJohn Price--who is now running across the country, but
      we see yesterday that Dean Karnazes beat him to New York--for supplying this
      in place of that former long and always-broken hyperlink].

      My mark:

      Rich Limacher
      ("your friendly 800-year-old pretty-far-out-there-himself lute-plucking
      French song-and-dance-man who's always used his golf cart to play golf").

      Yankee Folly of the Day:
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