Not that large race organizers, such as Iguana, from the SP City marathon, or the Track&Field arm responsible for the homonymous circuit, stop working hard to make their events viable.
They sweat, a lot, given the increasing offer of tests in the country. But, as a result of diligent brand-building work, its events have already become desired, for some even necessary.
But what can we say about a fellow whose livelihood is a boxing gym in the throes of Rio Pequeno, on the outskirts of São Paulo, subject to all sorts of defaults and late payment of monthly fees, whose stubbornness in organizing a half marathon brings him no return?
If this weren’t something so far from his reality, one could say that “Papi”, the Cuban Tomas Cabrera, who arrived in Brazil at the dawn of the century, is moved by mystical impulses, as if an entity snorting in his belly reminded him of his mission in this incarnation: to put another edition of the Butantã International Half on its feet.
But it’s difficult.
I spoke about her and him last June, when Papi believed he would hold the race in September, on the very same date that the blockbuster 70.3, the half Ironman, would take over almost the entire USP campus, where Papi’s half would also pass. It was this columnist who warned him about this.
As a result, the Butantã Half was held for next Sunday, on São Paulo’s birthday, but now facing problems with registrations, it had to be postponed again, until May.
Papi’s race is unusual: there are no masseuses or whey tasting post-race, no parking spaces in shopping malls, no kit delivery in air-conditioned stores; The kit must be picked up at the Butantã sub-prefecture; and instead of the same announcer issuing the same platitudes minutes before the start, it is possible that one or two local politicians will use the microphone.
And that’s why participating in the Butantã Half, if it actually happens, is worth it: here the “experience” is not in the accessories – t-shirt, entertainment, dubious jabás added to the kit –, but in essence, the race itself and the fraternal spirit that brings together the participants.
And since hitting the popcorn is this January the runners’ favorite sport, it’s worth mentioning that the popcorn, as the guy who runs without paying registration is called, does not exist in Meia do Butantã, despite the more “adult” price: in the lot that was monitored until last week, R$ 165.
If Papi doesn’t deliver the agreed-upon t-shirt or medal, or if there’s a lack of ice water, to mention some bizarre failures of the last São Silvestre, he won’t have the very brown alibi for the irruption of popcorn, this national scourge, true saúva, the main culprit for Brazil’s ills.
As if popcorn had sprouted out of nowhere, and its presence had not been priced, and well priced, in advance.
By the way, there was no shortage of cold water, medals and t-shirts in previous editions of Meia do Butantã.
USP was missing from the itinerary of the first edition, a section removed the day before for financial reasons; and also the trip to Havana promised for the 2024 champion. The website is also very un-Catholic and did not communicate the most recent postponement.
If there’s another chabu by May, call me on (11) 99752-0804 and I’ll forward Papi’s zap.
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