Cincinnati Flying Pig Marathon

Canadian Bacon: Three Little Flying Pigs

(Editor’s note: This story was originally published by the author on www.lisamayhuby.com, and has also been featured on Game Day Communications Facebook Fan Page)

Once upon a time there were three little pigs. Now, these little pigs liked to run – a lot. They’d travel to marathons and half marathons here and there, running and running. Their race shirt and medal collections grew until there was hardly room left to store or display any more.

One cold, blowy winter day, one of the little pigs said, “I’ve found the perfect race for us! It’s the Flying Pig Marathon in Cincinnati. Why don’t we Get Our Oink On and run it?” The other little pigs thought it a grand idea, and they all signed up. It was a Big Race, and they would Have Fun and Spend Money.

Winter came and went, and all the while the three little pigs trained and trained. They ran uphill and downhill. They ran in cold and snow, sleet and rain. They ran fast and they ran slow. They ran and ran and ran, getting ready for the Big Race.

The day finally came for the little pigs to travel to the Big Race and Have Fun. They had a long, long drive to Cincinnati, Ohio, but finally arrived. The little pigs spent hours at the race expo, Having Fun and Spending Money on shoes, shirts, and hats. They collected their fairly cool race kits and lots of samples, and were ready for the Big Race.

Much to their dismay, Mother Nature didn’t want to cooperate with the Big Race, and threatened to huff and puff and wash their Big Race away, with torrential rains, flooding and strong winds. “It’ll be okay”, the little pigs told themselves, “tomorrow’s another day. Besides, race officials have contingency plans.” And so they went to bed, dreaming of race bibs, PB’s, post-race refreshments and duty-free shopping on the trip home.

When the three little pigs awoke the next morning they peered out the hotel window, and – sure enough – Mother Nature was very, very angry. She was throwing a tantrum, huffing and puffing, raining and flooding, thunder and lightning, and the pigs cried, “Oh no, running in this weather will be no fun, no fun at all!”, then got ready for the Big Race anyway.

They wore matching tanks to stay cool, garbage bags (courtesy of the Hyatt) to keep somewhat dry, and Canada tattoos to show everyone where they were from. They waited with all the other runners in the dry and warm hotel lobby, staring out at the downpour and thunder and lightning with heavy hearts and trepidation. Then the time came when the three little pigs and all the other runners had to leave the hotel lobby and go to the start line. They made it, with just minutes to spare before the Big Race started, dodging lightning bolts and wading through deep puddles that went over the tops of their running shoes. And so the Big Race had a Soggy Start.

The three little pigs ran and ran, sometimes together, sometimes apart. They ran over bridges and overpasses. They ran out of Ohio and into Kentucky, then out of Kentucky and back into Ohio again. They ran uphill. They ran uphill some more. They ran uphill until they thought there couldn’t possibly be more uphill. Two of the little pigs were running the marathon, while one was running ‘only’ half, and the time came for the little pig to leave the others and continue on her own. She wished them good luck and went on her way. The lonely little pig ran and ran, then ran and walked. And walked. Uphill, and uphill yet more. “Is it possible this race course is entirely uphill?” the little pig thought to herself (and maybe aloud a couple of times as well, as delirium set in). And then it appeared, the most glorious sight the little pig could hope for: downhill.

The little pig’s feet started to move faster and faster, and before she knew it, she was flying down the hill, passing other racers left and right. Before she knew it, she was nearing the bottom of the hill and hopefully the Finish Swine, because she was very, very tired, and her feet hurt from being wet and soggy. The little pig ran and walked, then ran and walked some more, until she could see the Finish Swine. She had to dig deep – really deep – summoning all the energy she had left to keep her feet moving across the mats and collect her medal.

Soggy and tired, with sore feet and chafing, she slowly weaved her way through the recovery area, stocking up on bagels and fruit, then finally back to the hotel and a warm shower.

Unbeknownst to the lonely little pig, the other two pigs were having a hard time of their own running up and up and up, the hills seemingly never-ending, but helping each other to finish the long, long Big Race and cross the Finish Swine. While they were struggling along, the lonely little pig enjoyed a shower and dry clothes, and a soft place to sit, resting her tired legs and sore feet.

The marathon pigs finally made their way back to the hotel with their medals and food, well past their anticipated finish time, but grateful to be done and get out of their wet, soggy clothes and shoes. The half marathon pig warmly welcomed them, especially when she saw they had something to drink besides water, and they swapped race stories and experiences. After a while, the three pigs began their long journey home, stopping off along the way for a good night’s sleep.

That evening before bed, while they were enjoying a soak in the hotel hot tub and pool, they raised a celebratory beverage and started planning for their next Big Race. Here little piggy, piggy, piggy…

Oink.