Ultramarathon Man by DEAN KARNAZES

hadn’t owned running shoes in quite some time, hadn’t had much occasion to use them.
    I was staring at this bloody mess when I heard a car pull around from behind the building and saw that food was being served through the drive-up window. Yes, they were open! I was saved!
    My legs throbbing and cramped, my foot mangled, my body coated in a layer of sweat and road grime, I hobbled around back to the drive-through speaker. I stomped on the cord with my heel. “Can I take your order?” a tinny voice asked.
    â€œOh, yes!” I cried. “To start, I’ll have two tacos, a burrito supreme, and two tostadas.”
    â€œWill that be it?”
    â€œAnd a large Coke and two bean burritos.”
    â€œAnything more?”
    â€œThat’ll do it.”
    â€œPlease pay at the window.”
    Digging the crumpled twenty out of my shoe, I strolled joyously to the pick-up window. The girl up there didn’t look so happy, however.
    â€œSir, do you have a vehicle? You cannot order food from the drive-through unless you’re in a car.”
    I studied her. She was just a kid. No doubt the manager had drilled this rule into her. And I couldn’t have been a reassuring sight. But she was standing up there between me and my tacos. This was going to require some of the delicate persuasion skills I’d acquired at work. I tried my most winning smile.
    â€œI understand what you’re saying,” I said, calmly and agreeably. “But in this one isolated instance, could you just let it slide? I won’t do it again, promise.”
    She peered down at me, my sagging underpants fraying and tattered.
    â€œNice try.”
    â€œLook, I’ve got the money right here, and I can see my order right there.” I was still smiling, and trying to keep the note of hysteria out of my voice. “Let’s just make a quick transaction and we’ll be done with it. No one will ever know.”
    â€œI’m sorry, sir, but if we make an exception for you, we’d have to let everyone order from the drive-through without a car.”
    What was she talking about? I wondered. I looked behind me. Not a single other thirty-year-old man in his underpants appeared to be trying to sneak through the Taco Bell drive-through in the middle of the night.
    I showed her the twenty again.
    â€œPlease. Let me have my order and you can keep the change.”
    â€œGood night, sir.”
    â€œBut . . .”
    She disappeared from the window.
    â€œFood!” I moaned. “I need food!”
    Just then a car approached the drive-through, a massive, late-model Oldsmobile. I hobbled over as the middle-aged Asian driver rolled down his window. He looked surprised but not frightened to see me, which was a good sign.
    â€œListen, I’m really hungry,” I told him softly, so as not to be overheard by Helga the Taco Nazi inside. “They won’t let me order. I need to go in your car through this drive-up window.”
    â€œWhere your car?” he asked.
    â€œMy car is in San Francisco.”
    â€œYou want a ride to San Francisco?”
    â€œNo. I just go with you through this drive-through to get food.” He looked like a tough negotiator. “If you drive me through, I’ll pay for your food.”
    That cracked him up. “You pay? You crazy! You crazy, man.”
    Still laughing, he waved me around to the passenger side. I didn’t want Helga to see me next to him, so I slipped into the backseat and hunkered there, hopefully out of sight.
    â€œWe play taxi?” he grinned. “Okay, I taxi man. What you order?”
    â€œOrder me eight tacos,” I said softly.
    â€œEight tacos!” he cried. I motioned for him to keep it down.
    Helga seemed very suspicious through her whole exchange with him, but he pulled it off beautifully. There was a touchy moment at the window when I passed him my crumpled twenty and he held it up to her. She furrowed her eyebrows