Everyone thinks that Thanksgiving is about gratitude and family, but we know what this holiday is really about: astonishing your entire home town with your athletic prowess. The only problem is that, for years, true challengers have been forced to participate in rinky-dink Turkey Trot 5Ks. But no longer. At last, there’s a Thanksgiving race for real competitors: the Iron Turkey.
This intense feat of endurance begins at 4 A.M. sharp with a gruelling, three-mile river swim. And the water isn’t just frigid—it’s thick. Yup, to kick things up a notch, we dumped five thousand pounds of instant mashed-potato powder into that bad boy. It’s mealy, it’s blinding, and you’d better believe it smells crazy.
As you plunge through miles of synthetic spuds, you’ll notice a familiar, grating voice in your ear. That’s right, it’s your Aunt Kath’s third husband, Walt, the one who keeps getting scammed on Facebook. He’ll follow you in a canoe for the entire journey, desperately trying to lead you astray so that he can tell you about a barista who was rude to him.
Think that sounds hard? We’re just getting started.
If you manage to make it through the swim, and to peel off your starchy bathing suit, you’ll begin a hundred-and-twelve-mile uphill bike ride to the most crowded grocery store in America. Along the way, you’ll have to remember fifteen highly specific items that your mom forgot to grab last night. Did she say “thyme” or “lime”? And why does she need steak sauce? It doesn’t matter—she’s furious at your grandma, and if you forget anything she’ll take it out on you.
But that’s not all! As you pedal through twists and turns, you’ll notice a mysterious trio emerging from the wilderness, blocking your path. It’s your three loudest cousins. They’re already drunk on Michelob Ultras, and they’re begging you to play cornhole. You’ll have to distract them by throwing devilled eggs into the woods. But be careful—if they catch an egg in their mouths, it will only make them stronger.
That has to be it, right? Wrong.
The last leg of the Iron Turkey is a full marathon. After the treacherous swim and agonizing bike ride, the run will seem easy. That is, until you sense someone, or something, creeping up behind you. Who’s that dark figure on the horizon? It’s the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade Charlie Brown balloon—and he has a knife. Few can outrun Charlie’s blade, and those who do will have to avoid his enormous brown oxfords. This time, when he misses the football, he’ll kick you instead.
Crossing the finish line, you’ll bask in your victory, revelling in the knowledge that while all those losers in your family slept in, you were busy making gains. You were busy winning. And, sure, you won’t be at dinner because you’ll definitely be in the hospital. But at least you have this weird little medal—that’s something to be grateful for. ♦
