Sunday morning: 7:00 AM
Sunday is really the only day I can sleep-in. With our stressful work and family schedules, I'm sure this is also the case for many of you. I'm not a natural early-riser, but I have trained myself over the years to wake up at 5 am from Monday to Saturday for the job(s) that pay for my nice comfortable bed, among other things. I truly relish the only quiet time I get during the week - Sunday morning.
But today I was jarred awake at 6:30 am by the disagreeable sounds of a third-string reggae cover band blasting over a warbly PA system. The wail of unrelenting airhorns and shouts of "woooooooooohoooooo" rose up from the voices of thousands. I went to the window thinking that Jamaica had finally invaded Canada, just like they've been threatening to do since their devastating loss in Bobsledding at the 1988 Winter Olympics in Calgary. In theory, I'm okay with this, because I figure that cannibis legalization is imminent.
Then I came to the disappointing realization that the loud roar was actually this year's first charity marathon. I seem to forget about this annoying wake-up call through the long winter, but these weekly "fun runs" start in early spring and take place roughly every weekend until October. Thanks to my prime location in the heart of Joggersville (see photo), most of these marathons set up their starting line activities and concert stages just outside my window. There's always a bad PA system, a couple of nasty live bands, waves of cheering and applause, and plenty of garbled, monotone announcements, similar to a subway car, when everyone looks at other and says "huh? what did he just say? Are we in some kind of danger?" It's a bit like living in Jonestown, minus the free refreshments.
Charity run participants: Bless you for hauling your tight little asses out of bed so early on a Sunday to raise money for disease research, hospitals, sick children's camps, and other shit that our government can't be bothered to fund. I appreciate your excellent intentions, I regularly support your efforts through my donations, and Big Mama Karma will award you with your 2-minute mile, or a heart attack, depending on how honest your personal agenda might be.
But at this time of day, please use your indoor voices. I understand that all 9,000 of you are high on wheatgrass smoothies and really pumped about the 10 kilometres of adrenaline that lie ahead, but the rest of us, the people who live here, are SLEEPING. We'll share your excitement in a few more hours, but right now, we'd be grateful if you would shut the hell up.