Twas the night before Spartan, and all through the crib;   Not a thing was stirring, not even the racer’s bib;   Compression socks hung by the door with care,   In hopes that the start time soon would be there;   Us racers were nestled all snug in our beds   While visions of obstacles danced in their heads;   And baby in her pj’s, and I in my cap,   Had just settled in for a short autumn’s nap,     All of a sudden there was a clatter, out on the lawn,   Sprang from my bed to see what the hell was going on.   Away to the window I flew like a flash,   Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.   The moon on the breast of the new-fallen rain,   Gave a luster in the fog of my sleepy brain,   When what to my wondering eyes did appear,   But a Spartan Elite and all his race gear,   With a spry young racer this year’s champion,   I knew in a moment it was Robert Killian.   More rapid than eagles his competition they came,   And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:   "...
My observations and thoughts while being a passenger on Spaceship Earth