The New York City Marathon is tomorrow.
Runners from across the globe have descended upon the city. Central Park is no doubt choked with folks, doing their pre-race laps. And come tomorrow, hoards of people will be lining the course to watch.
I just don’t get it.
Not the running part — I understand how, once you commit to running, the endorphins kick in, you get addicted, and running becomes a lifestyle. I ran short distances for a couple of years, but I didn’t have the knees to keep going.
That’s cool; dog walks are plenty for me.
No, what I don’t get is watching marathons. Standing on the side of the road as the runners go by. It hardly seems like a spectator sport at all. I mean, people run everyday. The only difference here is the number of people gathered at one time in one place.
I know a lot of people watch the runners cross the finish line as a show of support to friends; I get that. But to stand and watch runner after runner after runner?
I just don’t get it.
Perhaps it isn’t that different from watching Indy cars race around the track for 500 laps. There is even a similar danger of crashing at both events.
Who am I kidding? I still don’t get it.
An egg in the hand
Some people climb mountains. Others run marathons.
And then there are the people who eat emu eggs.
And cost $20 a piece.
Cock-a-doodle-emu.
Now, emus may be native to Australia, but the growing popularity and high market value of their eggs have made farming them locally a great investment. Farms like Roaming Acres in neighboring New Jersey have over 20 emus on site (and ostriches, too).
And while empty egg shells are sold to artists and some eggs go to commercial kitchens, it’s the home cook looking to impress their friends that are driving the business.
Emu eggs — the Mount Everest of the dinner party.
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