I ran a half marathon once. I did just fine for a first-timer—a little over two hours, are you impressed? But I sure put my body through a whole lot of hell for months just to run 13.1 miles on a random day in October. I always tell myself I’ll do another one. That was almost four years ago, however, and I don’t know if I’ve run a combined 13.1 miles since. Can’t be great for my prospects.
Tell you what, though: I’ll start training for another half right goddamn now if there’s beer involved. And not just one beer. My reward for running that first half was a pint of Yuengling lager, and it tasted good enough because anything will taste good enough when you can’t feel your legs or really any part of your lower body, but if I’m going to go through that whole dance again, I’ll need at least at least a 12-pack waiting for me at the finish line—or better yet, while I’m actually running the race.
That brings me to my hero, a guy named Emmet Farnan. Farnan recently ran the Holy Half Marathon at the University of Notre Dame, and he did the whole thing while shotgunning a beer at the beginning of every mile. (His buddy biked the race and had a cold one waiting for him at each marker, because that’s what true friends do.) My dude strapped on a GoPro to document his athletic endeavor, and it’s delightful. Especially the part at the end, when he breathlessly says, “Holy fuck.”
The most surprising turn of events was that Farnan pulled off the feat with astonishing ease, finishing the race in 1:43:42—right around a 7:55 pace. And as far as I can tell, he accomplished this with only minimal yakking, if any at all. Last time I shotgunned some beers—less than two months ago, which, depending how you look at it, is either very admirable or very sad for a man staring down the precipice of 30—I was asleep before 9 p.m. So Farnan deserves your utmost respect. Holy fuck indeed.