***Disclaimer: Absolutely no broken hearts are featured in this blog entry*** I stand amidst a few thousand Mexicans, waiting for the firing of the starting pistol. It's 7:19am, still dark, a slightly fresh October morning in Guadalajara. No clouds are visible, chance of rain is virtually zero. Perfect conditions for a run, unless it takes you more than four hours to complete, in which case you would have to face the uncomfortable midday heat. People around me are stretching, jumping up and down, setting their smartphones and mp3-players or crossing themselves, which produces a mild sneer from my part. Your God's not here to help you, cabrón. The excited guy with the microphone starts a countdown, everybody joins in: ...cinco, cuatro, tres, dos, uno, ¡PUM! The Kenyans and the other elite athletes up front start dashing
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