The Sad Story Of The Marathon Runner Who Exposed Himself Accidentally
If you’re a runner you know what it’s like. You live to impress on Strava. Every one of your runs is like a baby photo that your fellow Strava athletes “aww” and “coo” at with their “kudos”. You finish your run and it doesn’t count for anything until it’s up on Strava for everyone to see. Once you start running, everything else stops existing. Your GPS watch becomes your only connection to reality.
This leads me nicely on to this video of a Slovakian marathon runner who was more interested in checking his pace on his Forerunner than on checking to see if his dick was flopping around The Great Outdoors like a mouse’s head in a pillory.
Surely he’d have noticed the change in air pressure when the balls came out? This fucker FINISHED 10th. He was charging like a mad bastard. Running with his junk out must have been like when the landing gear comes down on a plane and the sound just changes…
When I’m running for the bus the sound of my balls slapping together is like a one-handed man applauding sarcastically that I caught the fucking thing.
He’s running at 20mph without any underwear and we’re meant to believe that something isn’t at least whistling down there?
Time to check the engine light
For most men, the dick comes with it’s own psychic engine light. It’s important to check that it’s still there every half mile and it’s not joined the International Brigade. You can’t check down there too often as someone will eventually catch you and that’s worse than being caught with your balls out. At least in this situation you can plead innocence unless you’ve shaved a Swastika into your pubes or you have an undiagnosed medical condition that forces you to give your shaft the Heimlich manoeuvre at inopportune moments.
Still…I understand his plight.
I’m guilty of losing myself in technology too. During my voyage over the summer I’d spend lots of time running whilst on my phone trying to find the best route to take. I did this on busy roads and would scream when traffic beeped at me. For all I know they could’ve just been warning me that my dick was out and that the sheriff was on his way.
But I get it. The compulsive checking of the watch over everything else is embarrassing. When it comes to GPS shit we enter a completely different reality. Pressing on that little “Start” button is a wormhole to Planet Intensity. But we need that little adrenaline rush to get us started and my philosophy is if it pops out and it isn’t any harder than life for a heavily indebted but employable millennial, then I won’t be arrested.
I’m also guilty of running commando like this fucker. I was always worried about my underwear chaffing or falling off my arse during the key races and it just seemed excessive. Besides when I was running a race I didn’t need an extra step between being desperate for a piss and sweet relief. I started wearing underwear again when I shit myself and everything came out in front of the Kurdish grocer.
The moral of this story?
Know your balls better than your race pace.