(Not) Lanford Wilson wrote:
A dimly lit apartment, late at night. Papers, running shoes, an old LetsRun forum printout strewn across the table. PALE, disheveled, a few drinks in, paces erratically.
PALE
(Voice already raised)
You people—God, you people. You ever seen a mile? No, really, seen one? Not on a laptop screen, not on some data spreadsheet like you’re moving decimal points around like it’s Monopoly money—nah, I mean felt it, out in the air, lungs torched, eyes glassy, that little space where pain turns into poetry? No? Right, ‘course not.(Gesturing wildly at the air, almost like he’s talking to someone who isn’t there)
And you sit here—here!—typing your little posts about watts and Zwift screenshots like you’re running a congressional hearing. “He inflated his power data,” “She’s too happy to be real,” “They’re lying about the vibes—” (Laughs, darkly) Vibes, for God’s sake. You know what real lying is? I’ll tell ya, it’s when someone tells you they love you and then they vanish like smoke out a fire escape. That’s a lie. What you people are so worked up about? That’s just the game.
(Scoffs, grabbing the forum printout, waving it)
Fifty-seven pages! Fifty-seven! You wanna know how many pages it takes to run a mile? One! One page! 1,760 feet, you go, you either do it or you don’t, and the world don’t give a care about your hot takes! But no, no, we got theater, we got scandal, we got some kinda deranged Greek chorus of anonymous keyboard assassins.(Stops, breathes heavy, almost laughing at himself)
Man. I need a drink.(Beat. Picks up the printout again. Squints at the screen.)
Wait—did somebody just compare this guy to Dean Karnazes?(Shakes head, exits)
That was good