Welcome to the luxurious bathroom facilities at the Self-Transcendence 3100 Mile Race. Inside these walls, some of the runners deploy generous amounts of corn starch to help ward off chafing (it absorbs moisture, reducing friction in areas where rubbing occurs). The application process can be pretty messy; to keep some semblance of tidiness, one of the four port-o-potties is a designated no-starch zone. (Another one is ladies-only; there are no women in the race this year, but there are plenty of female volunteers on site.)
Utpal (kneeling) has been out at the course every day, thoroughly documenting the race on his blog. He's produced an amazing photographic record of the event.
Atmavir, of course, has also been at the racecourse every day, keeping the ball bouncing as he draws ever closer to 3100 miles.
It's Day 44 of the Self-Transcendence 3100 Mile Race, and Grahak Cunningham has just become this year's first finisher, averaging more than 71 miles (well over two and a half marathons) per day — a feat I can't even begin to comprehend.
As you can see, Grahak's been suffering from a pretty gnarly rash, among other health problems. After pushing himself relentlessly for a month and a half, he can finally let the healing process begin.
Sarvagata won the race last year, and he's poised to finish second this time around. At his side is his lovely wife Sarvakamya.
Kodanda (guitar) and Antara-Prabhat (vocals) are back at the racecourse, performing for the runners once again. Lyrics here.
Kodanda busts out a little medley off the top of his head for a couple of unexpected visitors.
After the excitement at the finish line had subsided and the spectators had returned to the goings-on of their daily lives, Grahak got up and started running again. He completed an extra 13 laps to reach the nice, even total of 5000 kilometers. (This is not uncommon for participants in this race; the international running community tends to measure things in metric units.)
Here you can see Sahishnu, with his two timepieces, watching vigilantly for the exact moment that Grahak crosses the final finish line — the same sidewalk crack that served as the starting line some 43 days ago.
What a contrast between the quiet dignity of this race and the hyped-up, corporate, manufactured NBC Olympic cheesefest being presided over by Bob Costas.
The colloquial name of this little graveyard springs from the belief that many of the Irish immigrants buried here fled to Astoria in the 1840s and '50s to escape the Great Famine.
Remember them? "Each sticker card features a Garbage Pail Kid character having some comical abnormality and/or suffering a terrible fate".
AND THE WATERMELON.
"EATING THE SKY vibrates with both dystopic and utopic possibilities, depending upon your worldview or mood of the day. The seemingly declarative aphorism defies easy interpretation and toggles somewhere between environmental, existential destruction and spiritual joy and nourishment."
from our favorite religious fanatic, Jack Chick. Read it here!
This long-abandoned house has become considerably more decrepit-looking since the Googlemobile last passed by in 2009.
Unlike some of its brethren, this Curbside Haiku sign has a QR code that's within reach of the general public. The corresponding haiku reads:
Aggressive driver.
Aggressive pedestrian.
Two crash test dummies.
