Adrenaline, Hubris and Twinkie the Kid

He never blinks.  Note that no one in the image addresses him directly.  Either they are terrified or awestruck.  Or possibly, they distain the hearts on his bandana.  The mammoth Twinkie is oblivious. He stands vigil in a Davenport Iowa convention center as  15,000 runners pick up their bib numbers and souvenir t-shirts, and check out the competition for the Bix 7 race the next morning.  I am one of this throng.

Named for the local and accomplished jazz coronetist Bix Biederbecke, the race has little to do with jazz, unless you count footfalls:  it’s a 7 mile course on a bank of the Mississippi that features epic hills and purse money high enough to attract nine Kenyans this year.  Or, maybe it isn’t the purse, but the 30-foot stretch of tables just past the finish line.  They’re full of Twinkies.

The Kenyans finished in 32 – 36 minutes.  I finished in 53.  I figure they just wanted the Twinkies more than I did.

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