The Twinkie That Wasn't

EDIT: This race recap is almost entirely fiction, written by Spike as an April Fool's Joke.

Today Spike and I participated in the A2A3 Twinkie Run 5K for ALS. As you can guess, Spike was obligated to run the event because of his unofficial sponsorship with Twinkie, and I decided I’d join in the fun. Initially, I figured this was going to be a fun run 5K, but then last night I had a very strange dream.

While Spike alternated between drooling and chewing on his pillow (dreaming of Twinkies?) I laid awake a nervous wreck. Finally, I drifted off into sleep and dreamt that I was in a starting coral full of giant Twinkies with bats. Every cowboy hat adorned Twinkie looked at me ominously and sternly slapped their bats against their delicious spongy hands. I wondered if I had forgotten to pick up my bat from the registration table. I asked one Twinkie what the bats were for and he said: “You!”

Bang.

The starting gun fired and we were off. I had barely crossed the starting line when one of the Twinkies smashed the bat against my leg. Pain radiated up through my body. And then another Twinkie hit my shin with his bat. The fear of reinjuring my leg and utter panic consumed me and I ran as fast as I could. I’m pretty sure I was kicking my legs in my sleep.

No matter how fast I ran, there was always a Twinkie faster than me, and every time I tried to pass a Twinkie I would get smashed in the shin with a bat. By the mid-point of the race I was sure both legs were broken but I kept running for fear of the beating I would receive if I dared stop. Delirious with pain and on the verge of blacking out I saw a Twinkie with a shirt that read: “The beatings will continue unit moral improves.” I sprinted past the Twinkie and jumped over his attempted attack on my legs. I had barely taken ten more steps when out of nowhere my right leg snapped. I could hear the cracking as I crumpled down. Dazed by pulsing pain I looked up as a Twinkie stood above me with a shirt that read: “Run Recklessly.”

I awoke in a jerk. What a crazy dream.

I though all morning about what the dream could be, but I wasn’t able to share it with Spike because he had gotten up early for his long run. I arrived at the race a few minutes before Spike made his way from Lansing—we had driven separately—and looked for signs of bat wielding angry yellow sponge-and-crème filled attackers, but found only normal sized Twinkies. Still I pondered, what did the dream mean?

When Spike arrived I handed him his bib and before I could tell him about the dream he started telling me about this kid wearing a t-shirt that said: “The beatings will continue until moral improves.” He was laughing as I felt shivers run down my spine. My mouth hung agape. I was terrified. I tried to tell him about my dream but could only manage a soft mumble. Spike had noticed the trays of Twinkies and ran off to retrieve ours. See, the race scorning works based on your finish time less the ‘Twinkie Bonus.’ Twinkie Bonus? Runners are offered two Twinkies during the race, one at the start and one at the half-way point. For every Twinkie you consume, a minute is taken off your total time.

Spike returned with our starting Twinkies and we posed for a few pictures. Can you see in my face how terrified I am? And then, the craziest thing happened. The Twinkie mascot—how had I missed him before—went over to a group of boys playing baseball in the park and took the bat so he could join in the game. I thought I was losing my mind. Spike, completely distracted by the sheer volume of Twinkies, was oblivious to my shaky emotional state. I finally got his attention when the race director began shouting announcements through is megaphone. I didn’t care, I grabbed Spike’s arm as the words that had escaped as mumbles before were about to explode into a symphony of hysteria. There was no way I was going to run this race. I knew what the dream meant. I was going to break my leg again if I ran this stupid 5K. I don’t even like Twinkies.

The words began to escape: “I can’t do this…my dream…Twinkies with bats…” But I fell abruptly silent as I noticed a younger woman standing in front of me wearing a pink shirt that read: “Run Recklessly.”

Bang.

It was then that I decided my original interpretation was wrong. I’ve been running for weeks now. I’ve done several 5 mile runs. My return to racing 5K was amazing. I wasn’t supposed to DNF this race. I was supposed to rock this race!

My legs began to churn over. Spike began shoving a Twinkie in his mouth. I ran happy. I ran with excitement. I wan with a Twinkie clenched so firmly in my hand its three lower orifices began to ooze white filling. I ran recklessly.

Before I knew it we were being offered our second Twinkie. I refused this one. We stopped briefly as Spike began shoving Twinkie number two into his mouth and were quickly back running. I was setting the tone. I was running tactically. I was running without fear. I was making the most of this adventure. I was passing people recklessly.

Soon we were running under a bright Twinkie shaped “Finish” sign. I felt exhilarated. My time was not a PR, but my experience was. I excitedly accepted my Twinkie shaped finishers medal. Nom. Nom. Nom.

The first set of results were without the ‘Twinkie’ adjustment and I was first in my age group. I couldn’t believe it. My dream. The woman in the “Run Reckless” shirt. Oh no! I realized I had only taken one Twinkie! That could change things. I eagerly awaited the official ‘Twinkie Bonus’ results.

There I was, officially, second place. My failure to consume two Twinkies had cost me the top spot in my age group. I couldn’t care less. I was ecstatic. I gratefully accepted my “Twinkie Run” pint glass and stuffed it with my yellow’ly awesome race shirt and posed for my victory shot.*

*Happy April Fools! This post was authored by Spike. (But the race recap was accurate as the Redhead did get herself an age group award.)