SPOILER ALERT!!! IF YOU HAVEN’T READ BOOK ONE OF THE HUNGER GAMES OR IF YOU DIDN’T KNOW I HAD MY BOOBS DONE, YOU MAY WANT TO SKIP THIS POST
I have a confession to make. I haven’t run once since my half. Not once. I haven’t even had my shoes on. This is worrisome for a few reasons, the two biggest being 1.) I have my Tough Mudder in two days, and 2.) I have the Pittsburgh Half in two weeks.
You would think this means I feel woefully unprepared and that I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish the challenges that lie ahead of me. And you would be wrong.
I, my friends, have read the Hunger Games. All three books. I say I’m not challenged ENOUGH.
I stayed away from reading the Hunger Games, mainly because my 16 year old son LOVED them. I would like to think that my tastes are refined enough that I would not have any interest in something that was appealing to a group screaming teenagers. I was an English major, for the love of Pete. I’ve read Chaucer.
I saw the mania that the movie premiere caused. I heard everyone talking about. And I failed to see why I personally needed to get caught up in the melee. Oh, teenagers getting torn from limb to limb? Whoopdedoo. That’s been done a zillion times. A dystopic world set in the future? Really? Gee. THAT’S original. And even the premise of the entire book, people being sacrificed as a part of a reaping, has been done before.
Quite frankly, as someone who would give back her breast implants to be a professional writer, I was annoyed that ONCE AGAIN someone who can’t write for shit was able to make an incredibly lucrative career almost in spite of the fact that the writing was pedestrian at best (I am totally looking at you, Stephanie Meyers).
OK, FINE. I was jealous.
I didn’t read them out of spite. Until I had to go to Texas. I was packing to leave and figured with an over three hour flight, I better have something to pass the time. I walked into our office and there on the bookshelf was Hunger Games. It was the only book on the bookshelf I hadn’t already read. I weighed my options. I could buy a new book at the airport, or, I could save $12 and see what all the fuss was about. I grabbed the book before I could change my mind and made my way to the airport.
I finished that damn book as we touched down in San Antonio. I devoured that book. I made that book my bitch. I cried on the damn plane, ya’ll. When little Rue died, I cried and cried and cried. Was the book well written? No. Not at all. Was it taking conceits that had long been worked over and working them over again? Yes. It was pretty much the exact same garbage I thought it would be. So why did I love it so much?
I don’t know. All I know is I bought books two and three and had the entire series finished by the time I got home. Each book got progressively worse. Book three was so bad and I hated Katniss Everdeen so much that it made finishing the series painful.
Katniss. Dear Katniss. She started out with so much promise, a kick ass female character that had strength and a clumsy grace. And by book three she was so wishy washy and annoying and Mockingjay-y that I wanted to sick a wild pack of muttations on her ass.
You would think the point of all of this is that if I could finish the Hunger Games trilogy then I can damn well finish my Tough Mudder and my next half marathon. And you would be partly right.
The other point is this – I WILL SHOOT MY OPPONENTS IN THE FACE WITH AN ARROW. There is never a situation that I can’t turn into the Hunger Games. Someone reaching for the same bottle of creamer as me at the grocery store? Stalk them and kill them in the parking lot. Someone not return my wave on a friendly neighborhood run? Track them down and spike a wasp nest off their heads.
I will finish both of my upcoming challenges because I will murder, kill and maim anyone who stands in my way. Should make for some interesting blog posts.
Yours in overactive imaginations,