Glizzy Glory on Weenie Weekend

With a clear mind, a full heart, and an empty stomach, I stepped out of my Crown Heights apartment at 8:40 AM on Sunday. I walked over to the black Toyota RAV4, opened the door, and slid into the backseat next to my friend Anthony and his girlfriend Cristina. Immediately, Anthony gestured to the hot dog costume peeking out of the tote bag between his feet. “Dude, I’m so f—— hyped,” he said with a glizzy-eating grin on his face. “We were born for this.” He then took off his jacket to reveal he was wearing the gray cotton t-shirt that I got him for his birthday. Across the chest in all caps were the words: BAD DAY TO BE A GLIZZY.
The Uber driver pulled away from the curb and started down the street. We were on our way to Coney Island for the first annual Hot Dog Jog, a race hosted by the Brooklyn Cyclones as part of Weenie Weekend. Hot Dog Jog participants run four laps around the ballpark, covering about a mile. Sure, that’s a short distance for a run, but this race isn’t meant to be a feat of endurance. Instead, it’s a test of intestinal fortitude. After every lap, contestants have to stop and eat a hot dog. Anthony and I were running in the race, while Cristina came to see the spectacle, cheer us on, and laugh at us if we puked.
The event was slated to begin at 9 AM, but a few days earlier, we received an email telling us that we would be running in Group 4 and should report to the race no later than 9:40 for registration. The first race, the Cocktail Frank Kids Division, had already begun by the time we were dropped off outside Maimonides Park a little before 9:20. King Henry, the on-field emcee of the Cyclones, was announcing the action through a megaphone and motivating contestants with hot dog puns. We exited the car to a cacophony of crowd chants, color commentary, and Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way.” It was then that we knew we were on the edge of the most glorious day of our lives. Read the rest of this entry »








