So, let's say -- and this is just supposin' understand -- you caught the running/health/masochism bug, a few months back.
(Hey, it happens. No, I don't know why. As someone who ran cross country extremely poorly back in the day, I wouldn't know why anyone would develop a jones for running long distances. It hurts, for one thing.)
Anyway ... let's say you caught the bug. And you decided, somewhere along the line, that you were Going To Run A Marathon. (Again ... why?) So you train for months and months and months, running in all sorts of mean weather, even entering a few half-marathons just to build up to it. And finally the big day comes.
And then ...
And then, this happens.
Seriously? A train?
This is quite simply the dumbest thing to happen to marathon running since Rosie Ruiz. It's like Mildred the crossing guard stepping onto the track in the middle of the Indianapolis 500 and holding up her little stop sign because the schoolkids from Millard Fillmore Elementary have to cross turn three to get there. It's like someone stopping the Kentucky Derby in the middle of the backstretch for a bake sale. It's like ...
Oh, heck. It's like having to stop a marathon for a train.
And here I thought stuff like this only happened in New Haven.