Paul constant

It takes a certain kind of person to run a marathon. It takes another kind of person to run a marathon in the rain while under the influence of alcohol and wearing a costume. That's what you get with the Manskin, an annual event—at 20 miles, it's not technically a marathon, and some racers ride bikes, so it's not just a footrace. What it is, is crazy.

This morning, the Manskinners were dropped off in a parking lot in Woodinville. They were dressed as superheroes, Visigoths, and animals; some were drunk before starting the race. A couple of the bicyclists were pulling trailers that carried kegs of homebrewed beer. This was all relayed to me secondhand because they met at 8:30 in the morning on a Sunday, and like any right-thinking person, I was at home, sleeping off a hangover.

Of course, it's illegal to drink in public, so surely these racers didn't drink while running; that would be wrong. By the time they show up in Ballard, at a much more reasonable 1:00 in the afternoon, they're sweaty from the run, boasting ebullient grins on their faces. Nobody knows who won. They're all eager to get to the house party, where legal drinking and copious pizza eating will take place. During the loading up of equipment, though, we notice something strange: The homebrew kegs seem suspiciously light. Curious, somebody tests the tap: Somehow, the kegs were empty, but, since drinking the beer would've been illegal, how did they get emptied? Someone shrugs: "It must've been a Manskin miracle." And then she burps.

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