Citation Needed - The Barkley Marathons - The Immortal Horizon - Part 2

Episode Date: June 18, 2025

The Barkley Marathons is an ultramarathon trail race held each year in Frozen Head State Park in Morgan County, Tennessee, United States. Described as "The Race That Eats Its Young", it is known for its extreme difficulty, purposefully difficult application process, and many strange traditions, having been completed only 26 times by 20 runners since 1995.

Hello and welcome to Citation Needed, the podcast where we choose the subject, read a single article about it on Wikipedia and pretend we're experts because this is the internet and that's how it works now. I'm Eli Bosnick and I'll be leading my boys into extreme danger tonight, but I'll need some masochists in need of therapy. First up, two men for whom Doc is definitely just a nickname, Noah and Tom. Okay. All right. Two men for whom Doc is definitely just a nickname, Noah and Tom. Okay, alright. Well, riddle me this, Eli.

If I'm not a doctor, why would I have such easy access to so many drugs? I mean, look, I too only need seven minutes before I'm finished, so it's a pretty good nickname. Exactly. Exactly, yeah. Humble brag. And also joining us tonight. And also joining us tonight, two guys for whom a healthy sense of competition includes Regicide Heat and Cecil. Okay, I'm not crazy. Like the most important thing is

going out there and having fun while you murder a king. But not MLK. Like, yeah, like, in the last week episode, that's important. Before we begin tonight, I'd like to take a moment to thank our patrons. Hey patrons, without you, we might have to start a racism-themed extreme race to make ends meet. The Hitler hike, the Goebbels gallop, if you will. Oh my god. All fevered imaginings exclusively, thanks to you. And if you'd like to learn how to join their ranks, be sure to stick around till the end

of the show. And with that out of the way, tell us, no illusions, what person, place, thing, concept, phenomenon or event will we be talking about today? Today we're going to be covering the second half of The Immortal Horizon by Leslie Jamison. And Tom, even we couldn't fit that much crazy into a single episode. You ready for the grand finale? Let's finish this marathon. All right, Tom, let's let Leslie take it away.

Julian has completed 500 mile races so far as well as countless short ones, and I once asked him why he does it. He explained it like this. He wants to achieve a completely insular system of accountability. One that doesn't depend on external feedback. He wants to run a hundred miles when no one knows he's running. So that the desire to impress people or the shame of quitting won't constitute his sources of motivation.

Perhaps this kind of thinking is what got him his PhD at the age of 25. It's hard to say. No, it's not. It's not hard to say at all. Did he get a secret PhD from himself? What are you talking about? I feel like the institution must have known. Barclay doesn't offer a pure form of this isolated drive or PhDs, but it comes pretty

close. Unless some asshole ruins it with a long form article in which case. When it's midnight and it's raining and you're on the steepest hill you've ever climbed and you're bleeding from briars and you're alone and you've been alone for hours, it's only you around to witness yourself quit or continue. And yes, you have a very deep desire to please a guy named Laz Lake, both sexually and with material gifts. Including that time you went to Liberia to get him a license plate offering, but it's also very zen and detached and enlightened.

I just want to take a moment for the record and say that a PhD is significantly more impressive than running 100 miles by yourself. There aren't any bobcats with a PhD. You know what I'm saying? Not a single one. At four in the morning, the fire is bustling. A few front runners are in camp preparing to head on to their third loops,

gulping coffee or taking 15 minute naps in their tents. It's as if the thought of the full weight of loneliness has inspired an urge toward companionship back here. The same way Julian's hunger, when he stops for aid, makes me feel hungry. Though I have done little to earn it. Another person's pain registers as an experience in the perceiver. Empathy has forced symmetry. A bodily echo. That's just empathy, Leslie. That's the word. Yeah, that's regular. Empathy. Also, you're also just supposed to be periodically hungry

like three times. Regardless of how many briar patches you've wrestled back down. There's no need for a justification here, lady. Just think, Les tells me, Julian's out there somewhere. Out there is a phrase that comes up frequently around camp, so frequently in fact that one of the regular racers, a wiry old man named Frozen-Ed Furtaw, like frozen head, get it? Who runs in sunset orange camo tights?

What are they, camouflage of? A brush fire? What is that? Okay, well, you might be invisible next to other insane people in all these games. He self-published a book called Tales From Out There. The Barclay Marathons, the World's Toughest Trail Race. The book details each year's comet trail of DNFs and includes an elaborate appendix listing other atrociously difficult trail races and explaining why they're not as hard.

Oh, okay, this one's right below what it feels like to chew tin foil on my reading list. Yeah. I get that one. All right. But the fact that there's a book like that makes me feel like if we started a race where the rules were like, are you have to race barefoot and we get to kick you in the nuts the whole time, some of these idiots would sign up for it.

And laws would sue us. I was proud of Julian, I tell Laz. It was dark and cold and he could barely swallow his can of Insured and he just put his head in his hands and said, here I go. Laz laughs. How do you think he feels about that decision now? Well, probably Moo.

He has no attachments. So. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. It starts to rain. I make a nest in the back of my car. I type notes for this essay.

I watch an episode of the real world Las Vegas. Oh, God, rather run the race. And then turn it off. Just as Stephen and Trishel are about to maybe hook up to conserve power for the next day. And also because I don't want to watch Stephen and Trishel hook up. I wanted her to hook up to conserve power for the next day and also because I don't want to watch Stephen and Treshell hook up. I wanted her to hook up with Frank. I try to sleep. I dream about the prison tunnel. It's flooding and I've just gotten a speeding ticket and these two things are related in an important way I can't yet fathom and I'm trying to make my word count desperately for this

essay. I'm awoken every once in a while by the mournful call of taps, like the noises of a wild animal echoing through the night. Julian arrives back in camp around eight in the morning. He was out for another 12 hours, but he managed to reach only two books. Sissy. There were a couple hours lost. Another couple spent lying down in the rain waiting for first light. He's proud of himself for going out even though he didn't think he'd get far, and I'm proud

of him too. "'Nobody cares about your external pride, Leslie,' screamed at me with zen enlightenment." What the fuck is happening? We join the others under the rain tent. Charlie Angle describes what forced him back during his third loop. Felt flat on my ass going down rat jaw, he said. Then I got up and fell again, got up and fell again, and that was pretty much it. Hey, don't put this in your article, okay?

It's boring. There's a nicely biblical logic to this story. It's the third time that really does the trick, seals the deal, breaks the back, what have you. I feel like it's more Mother Gooseian than biblical, but whatever. Is the rule of threes in the Bible? Laz asks whether Charlie enjoyed the prison section. Lazz asks everyone about the prison section.

The way you'd ask about your kid's poem. Did you like it? So? Did you come? Really? I keep telling you, Heath, that is an inappropriate question to ask about your kid's poetry. We say it all the time. We say it all the time.

Charlie says, how's he gonna know otherwise though? Charlie says he did like it. That's what I said Tom. You know. If you have to ask the answer is no. Right, yeah. Charlie says he did like it. Very much.

He says the guards were friendly enough to give him directions. They were good old southern boys, those guys. And I can tell from the way he says it that Charlie considers himself a good old southern boy as well. They told us just make your way up there, holler. And then those California boys just made they turn and say, what the fuck is a holler? You should have told him, says Laz, that in Tennessee, a holler

is when you want to get out, but you can't. These people pick the president. that in Tennessee hollers when you want to get out, but you can't these people pick the president Honestly like actual electoral votes should be apportioned by how many applicants for this race your state Each applicant is minus one to your electoral vote You mean Barclley or white either way That's exactly what I said Charles tells us I said when you're standing barefoot on a red-and-hill that's a holler No, we're about to climb. That's a holler hollers tricky. We don't really have a word for it in English It's basically I'm an idiot, but it's kind of deeper. It's

interesting profound The rain is unrelenting. Laz doesn't think anyone will get the full hundred this year. There were some stellar first laps, but no one seems strong enough now. People are speculating about whether anyone will even finish the fun run. There are only six runners left with a shot.

If anyone can finish, everyone agrees it will be Blake. Laz has never seen him quit. Julian and I share a leg of chicken slathered in barbecue sauce. How the fuck do you share a chicken leg? Thank you! That's like sharing a sip of water! What the fuck are you talking about? You can't, like there's no way to picture this without some weird Folgers commercial fucking lady in the train. What? But also like, fuck you for taking his chicken. He's just run a hot fucking 20 miles through the gate. Let him have his fucking chicken leg lady.

Jesus Christ. Can I, you going to finish that? Yes, he's going to fucking finish that. There are only two left on the grill. It's a miracle the fire hasn't gone out. The chicken's good and cooked as promised, steaming in our mouths against the fire. The chicken's good and cooked as promised, steaming in our left on the grill. It's a miracle the fire hasn't gone out. The chicken's good and cooked as promised, steaming in our mouths against the chilly

air. I baby bird the last of the shared chicken leg into Julian's mouth and then he sprints off into a briar patch on purpose with duct-taped assless chaps that he made. I'm proud of him. He doesn't want to hear it, but I am. A guy named Zane, with whom Julian ran much of his first loop, tells us he saw several wild boars on the trails at night.

Was he scared? He was. One got close enough to send him scurrying off the edge of a switchback, fighting stick in hand. Would a stick have helped? We all agree, probably not. I mean it would have given him a nice thing to display his corpse on. So, fun fact, next year getting eaten by a wild boar, part of the race. You gotta get it.

I mean, at least I have to stick fight one, you know what I'm saying? A woman, clad in what looks like an all-body windbreaker, has packed a plastic bag of clothes. Laz explains that her husband is one of the six runners left. She's planning to meet him at Lookout Tower. If he decides to drop, she'll hand him his dry clothes and escort him down the easy three-mile trail back into camp. If he decides to continue, she'll wish him luck as he prepares for another uphill climb soaked in rainwater and pride, unable to take the dry clothes because accepting aid would get him

disqualified. Doesn't count unless you've got festering taint mold. Sorry about that. I'm sorry. You're not allowed to accept aid? What happened to the fucking campfire filled with cookies and shit? I'm confused about the rules. Like they can have, I think, performance enhancing drugs. drugs like he had no does in a fanny pack you can have Electronics with batteries, but they can't have like have extra in a little bag

The handing that's the problem you have to carry it with the misery you can't have anything that reduces the misery Tom said to himself in coincidence with our podcast I hope she shows him to dry clothes before he makes up his mind says Laz the choice is better that way Babe, is that my good Ed Hardy shirt? The crowd stirs. There's a runner coming up the paved hill. Coming from this direction is a bad sign for someone on his third loop. It means he's dropping rather than finishing People guess it's JB or Carl must be JB or Carl. There aren't many guys still out but after a moment Laz gasps

It's Blake. He says I recognize his walking poles. Not the guy you told me to be invested in two paragraphs ago Okay, I'm sorry wait wait you're allowed to use walking poles? So confusing, these rules. Okay, that is damn near like telling us at this point that they've been driving four wheelers this whole time. Blake is soaked and shivering. I'm close to hypothermia. He said I couldn't do it.

He says the climbing rat jaw was like scrambling up a playground slide and roller skates Well, that's of course you have fucking walking poles But otherwise he doesn't seem inclined to offer excuses He says he was running with JB for a while, but left him on rat jaw. That's bad news for JB He says last shaking his head. He'll probably be back here soon Bad news for JB says Laz, shaking his head. He'll probably be back here soon. Laz hands the bugle over. It's as if he can't bear to play taps for Blake himself.

He's clearly disappointed that Blake is out, but there's also a note of glee in his voice when he says, you never know what'll happen around here. There's a thrill and a tension between controlling the race and recognizing it as something that will always disobey him. It approximates the pleasure of alter-running itself, the simultaneous exertion and seeding of power, controlling the body enough to make it run this thing, but ultimately offering it to the uncontrollable vagaries of luck and endurance and conditions, delivering oneself into the frichon of this overpowering.

Okay, the Barclays being described as reluctant butt stuff there, right? Like, it's like identical to that, like, you move and the torture marathon stays in place is the play. Let's do it. Doc Joe motions me over to the fire pit. Hold this, he says, and shoves a large rectangle of aluminum siding in my direction.

Okay, happy where that landed. Yeah, me too. Mm. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha remaining breast of chicken is crisping to a beautiful charred brown. Blake's chicken, he explains, I'll cover it with my body if I have to. This is like Tom threatening to pull off someone's arms if they try to take the cupcake he saved for me. And it was my birthday. So what? Plan better. That's true. That's what he said at the time. Your move keeps the chicken leg in place.

Yeah. Alright, well, Blake is out. That's what he said at the time. All right move keep the chicken leg in place. Yeah All right. Well Blake is out if you can believe it Blake guys While I take a moment to recover from the shock I was team Blake this is disappointing for some apropos questions? Uh, yeah. Yeah. Question. Yeah, Blake, what's up?

So does any of this strike you guys as, I don't know, problematic? We're problematic? Well, how? Ah, like a race to celebrate the escape of the guy who shot Martin Luther King, that doesn't feel great. And a lot of these place names feel pointed, like raw dog, like having sex without a condom, that's what that means. Why is there a place named after unprotected sex?

This is Joe. This is Joe? On whom? Cool, so yeah, I think I'm gonna back out this year. Yeah me too. Yeah now that you mention it That if you leak you won't get the dr. Do I pick it up but on the ring? Oh, yeah, what's that? I call it kick a jewelry. Yeah No, it's not Excuse me is anyone sitting here? Oh no, by all means. Cool, thanks.

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com slash citation to find out how you can get up to four extra months for free. ExpressVPN.COM slash citation. Hey, you might take a picture or something for me. I very much do, yes. And we're back! When we left off, some people had left off, so tell us Tom, who's still on and why should anybody give a fuck? Why this sense of stakes and heroism?

Oh, thanks, Leslie. I appreciate you. Of course, I have been wondering the whole time, why do people do this anyway? Whenever I pose the question directly, runners reply ironically, I'm a masochist. I need somewhere to put my craziness type a from birth, et cetera. I begin to understand that joking about this question is not an evasion, but rather an intrinsic part of answering it. Nobody has to answer this question seriously because they are already answering it seriously with their bodies and their willpower and their pain.

The body submits itself in utter earnest, in degradation and commitment to what words can speak of only lightly. Okay, words can't really describe it as a hell of a statement when you're writing a 10,000 word essay about it. We had to do two episodes, Leslie. It's mostly about her stealing his chicken though. Maybe this is why so many ultra runners are former addicts. They want to redeem the bodies they once punished, master the physical selves whose cravings they

once served. Okay, but I feel like they're not telling us about all the runners who definitely relapsed. As long as there isn't any other connection between self-harm and former addiction, that's a great answer, Leslie. Let's not Google it. There is a gracefully frustrating tautology to this embodied testimony. Why do I do it? I do it because it hurts so much and I'm still willing to do it.

The sheer ferocity of the effort implies the effort is somehow worth it. The sheer ferocity of the effort implies the effort is somehow worth it. This is purpose by implication rather than direct articulation. Laz says no one has asked them why they're out here. They all know. Yeah, I put bags of cocaine all around. But the therefore is reversed in that statement though. Right? Like the fact that they know why they're out there is why you should ask. Right? Combined with the fact that nobody else can even fucking fathom a reason. That's why you should ask them why they're out there.

It would be easy to fix upon any number of possible purposes, conquering the body, fellowship in pain, but it feels more like significance dwells in concentric circles of labor around an empty center, commitment to an impetus that resists fixity or labels. The persistence of why is the point, the elusive horizon of an unanswerable question, the conceptual equivalent of an unanswerable question, the conceptual equivalent of an unrunnable race. And also the regular equivalent. But how does the race turn out?

Turns out JB manages to pull off a surprising victory, which makes the fifth paragraph of this essay a lie. The race has nine finishers now. I get this news as a text message from Julian who found out from Twitter we're both driving home on separate highways. He's pushing his car with his feet like the Flintstones. I'm proud of him. The one thing he's fucking reading Twitter while he's driving which is uncomfortable. That's fine. At Leslie I don't't need your pride. I am detached. My immediate thought is shit.

I wasn't planning to focus on JB as a central character in my essay. He hadn't seemed like one of the strongest personalities or contenders at camp. But now I know I'll have to turn him into a story, too. It's like trying to explain to people in 2015 that Joe Rogan will have an effect on the presidential election night. Jesus Christ. At Leslie, you're in the Epstein files, fuck you. This is what Barkley specializes in, right? It swallows the story you imagined

and hands you another one. I thought it specialized in razor briars. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha I fucking started with some character studies on them and I have to scrap it. Trying to get 10,000 words. Fuck. Now everyone goes home. Carl will go back to his machine shop in Atlanta. Blake will help his daughter train for the trials. John Price will return to his retirement and his man wagon. Laz, I discover, will return to his position as assistant coach for the boys basketball team

Cascade high school no down the highway in war trade. All right kids today We're gonna practice free throws while the courts on fire This is why you gotta Google your kids teachers. Yeah, okay, cuz sometimes sometimes They spend their summer doing a racism themed death race Solo this year coach army, I'm gonna hit your assistant with my car And he's actually gonna be into it strangely And he's actually going to be into it strangely. Okay. What are you both times?

One of the most compelling inquiries into the question of why, to my mind at least, is really an inquiry around the question. And it lies in a tale of temporary madness. A.T.'s frightening account of his fifth loop, Crisis of Purpose, back in 2004. By crisis of purpose, he means losing my mind in the fullest definition of the phrase. A relatively unsurprising condition given the circumstances. And the head starts. He's not alone in this experience. Another ultra-butter named Brett Maughan describes hallucinating a band of helpful Indians at

the end of his three day run of the John Moore trail. They were really helpful, but they kept telling me to call them Native Americans. That's the helpful thing actually, is they kept corrupting my... So, so I did that, but then one guy was like, no, I'm from the country of India, you fucking racist. I'm wearing a village People costume for Pride, and I didn't know what to do there. It felt still problematic that he was wearing the thing, but it was Pride. Lots of my hallucinations are guilt-based, you know what I mean?

Like white guilt and hetero guilt. They watched over me while I slept, and I would chat with them briefly every time I awoke. They were very considerate, and even helped me pack everything when I was ready to resume hiking. I hope this does not count as aid. Don't worry, man, it does not. A.T. describes wandering without any clear sense of how he'd gotten to the trail or what he was meant to be doing there.

The Barclay would be forgotten for minutes on end, although the premise lingered. I had to get to the garden spot. For why was there someone there? His amnesia captures the endeavor in its starkest terms. Premise without motivation, hardship without context, but his account offers flashes of wonder. Flashes? I mean, I'm sorry, I feel like if I'm just standing on the side of a Briarfield mountain soaking wet and half-starving going like, what was I looking for here? I feel like the wonder would come in more than flashes.

Right? Right? Right? Right? I stood in a shin-deep puddle for about an hour, squishing the mud in and out of my shoes. I walked down to Coffin Springs, the first water drop. I sat and poured gallon after gallon of fresh water into my shoes. I inspected

the painted trees, marking the park boundary, sometimes walking well into the woods just to look at some paint on a tree. Okay, just take some acid and go for a walk in the woods. You can do whatever you want. But yeah, I get the mud thing with the squishy feet. Either way, I like acid or not. Get in there. That's just nice. In a sense, Barclay does precisely this. Forces its runners into an appreciation of what they might not otherwise have known or noticed.

The ache in their quads when they have been punished beyond all reasonable measure Fatigue pulling the body's puppet strings inexorably downward the mind gone numb and glassy from pain Barclays real gift is potential life altering incredibly dangerous exhaustion induced dementia You can't get PTSD from your average foot race, folks. Right? I feel like somehow she missed that she just said the point of all the pain was being in pain.

By the end of A.T.'s account, the facet of Barkley deemed most brutally taxing, that sinister and sacred self-sufficiency has become an inexplicable miracle. When it cooled off, I had a long-sleeved shirt. When I got hungry, I had food. When it got dark, I had a light. I thought, wow, isn't it strange that I have all of this perfect stuff just when I need it? And that's God right there.

That's God. I'm a Christian dualist, also a Zen Buddhist. This is benevolence as surprise, evidence of a grace beyond the self that has, of course, come from the self, the same self that loaded the fanny pack hours before, whose role has been obscured by bone-weary delusion, turned over by the sheer fact of the body losing its own mind. So it goes. One morning a man blows a conch shell,

and two days later, still answering the call of that conch, another man finds all he needs strapped to his own body, where he can neither expect nor explain it. Okay, do we know for sure that Leslie's not related to Peter Thiel? Yeah. Do we know for sure that Leslie's not related to Peter Thiel? Yeah. Do we know for sure? No.

We don't. We don't know that she's not Peter Thiel. I feel like with good evidence that she might be Peter Thiel. Yeah. And if you had to summarize what you learned in one sentence, Tom, what would it be? Running is stupid and you don't have to do it. Okay. No one's your bicycle. Are you ready for the quiz? I am't have to do it. Okay. Now with your bicycle, are you ready for the quiz?

I am. Let's do it. All right, Tom, we learned about a 100 mile torture race inspired by James Earl Ray that makes people hallucinate. What should it be called instead of the Barclay? A. The MLK ultra marathon. Fantastic. Oh wow. Nicely done. Oh, that's so good. Nicely done. the Barkley a the MLK ultra marathon Can't follow up that

Alright, uh time to beat a dead horse one more time What's a better name for this race? the 5kkk b as the jim crow flies see What's a better name for this race? A. The 5KKK B. As the Jim Crow flies C. The Segregate or D. The Dread Scott Trial The Dread Scott Trial! The Dread Scott Trial is so good!

It's the Dread Scott Trial. Yes, absolutely. All right, Tom. Who were you rooting for in this particular edition of the Barclay Marathon? A. The guy with the white guy name who was running to see if he could. B. The other guy with the white guy name who was running something something the self. Or C. A mudslide. Always mudsl see a mudslide always mudslide I'm going to always mudslide. That is correct. You made yours too easy Eli. Okay I've got one for you too. Alright. What's the most popular sport for these athletes to compete in during

the offseason? A. The javelin catch. B. Involuntary gymnastics. C. Full contact bowling. Or D. The reverse biathlon where you ski 20 kilometers and then five targets shoot you. Okay. First, I would watch all of these events. I would watch all of them. The javelin catch is just laundry. That's charts, right? That's charts. Yes charts They don't let you do that anymore. That's a Involuntary gymnastics. I just I want to see somebody hurled at the at the pommel. Oh, I'm so sorry

It was the reverse by oh, no actually no, you're right. I guess Heath one. So that's right I mean he had like five puns in his one answer So he does the time like when we're doing like only one answer It's because we can only come up with one pun But he did it because there are so many puns in the fucking single answer that you couldn't fit anymore And pun per word that's right and Heath you smooshed the most puns so you win this week Fantastic. All right next week, let's hear from Noah. Alright well for Tom, Noah, Cecil, and Heath, I'm Eli Bosnik thanking you for hanging out

with us today. We'll be back next week and by then Noah will be an expert on something else. Between now and then you can listen to our podcasts while you run on the open trails until the madness overtakes you and then our voices will transform into your helpful Native American guides. And if you'd like to help keep the show going, you can make a per episode donation at patreon.com slash citation pod or leave us a five star review everywhere you can. And if you'd like to get in touch with us, check out past episodes, connect with us on social media or check the show notes.

Be sure to check out citation pod.com. Okay. And then after your favorite restaurants in Asia, what would you talk about then? I don't know. Maybe some recipes, some unique kitchen tools, non-unit taskers. Okay, that's all the continent, Cecil. What would you talk about next? I would talk about, no, I did that. I'd talk about how hard it is to be white.

See? God damn it. Every time. Yep. I guess you were right. 100% of the white guys, yeah.