Official: You want answers?
Runner: I think I'm entitled to them.
Official: You want answers?
Runner: I want the truth!
Official: You can't handle the truth!
Son, we live in a sport that has races. And those races have to be organised by officials with stop watches. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Runner!
I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for personal bests and you curse lactate intolerance. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know: that the London Marathon course, while tragic, probably produced PBs. And my existence, while confusing and incomprehensible to you, produced PBs...
You don't want the truth. Because deep down, in places you don't talk about at training, you want me by that witches hat, You need me by that witches hat.
We use phrases like "move back", "no invite for you", "the program is running late"...we use these phrases as the backbone to a life spent scoring something. You use 'em as a punchline.
I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who runs and competes under the shade cloth of the very competition I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it!
I'd rather you just said thank you and went on your way. Otherwise, I suggest you pick up a stop watch and stand a witches hat. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think you're entitled to!
Runner: Did you stuff up the course measurement?
Official: I did the job you sent me to do.
Runner: Did you stuff up the course measurement?
Official: You're God Damn right I did!