Pop-Up Marathon Party // Meatball Edition
Dearly beloved We are gathered here today 2 get through this thing called the Marathon. The Liberty Ave. Tradition Continues! Come on dahn to the Bloomfield Bridge to cheer on the runners at mile 23. For this year's pop-up cheering party, we'll be handing out meatballs to the runners.
You might be asking, "why meatballs?" To that, I ask, "why a marathon?" To some, a marathon is an un-human, un-natural, unnecessary, arbitrary 26 miles of monotonous pain. To the runners, it's something personal. Every single one of these runners had to train, prepare, consider their goals, and get up earlier than the sun to do this run. So, why not a meatball? Other than having just run through Little Italy, the meatball is less of a symbol, and more of a reflection of the spirit of the day - to celebrate our communal struggles and pains through this life, and making the most of it with the limited time that we have. We’re not all born with money, but we’re all born with time, and none of us know how much each of us gets. This existential fact hits home when marathon participants pass the Bloomfield Bridge and see us hollering, cheering, and handing out these improbable (but desirable) tasty, greasy globes of low nutritional value. So, with only 3 miles left to completion, the runners must ask themselves: "Do I eat the meatball?" Our savory meatballs may give runners those extra carbs and salt that’ll boost them through the next few miles… or our meatballs might give some that miserable belly bomb feeling, standing in the way of their personal victory; we’re not quite sure. What we do know is even if not all runners EAT a meatball, they will smile and laugh when they see us. We laugh together, and we offer each hardworking person working on their aspirations and athleticism a meatball. Because that’s just such a wildly unreasonable thing to do during an unreasonable sporting event. In this absurdity lives camaraderie, and every runner is fed like family, while supplies last. Music playing, meatballs cooking, cowbells ringing, horns blaring, we are a nonstop cheering meatball machine! They think we’re deranged, getting out there in the morning and making meatballs, but we know they’re truly the wacky ones; they’re running 26 miles!
