Fish Tales

This post has nothing to do with running or beer. But in the spirit of taper madness, it has everything to do with keeping myself busy and distracted so I don't go off the deep end in the final, sparsely run upon weeks of training for Boston. This is a post about goldfish.

As I mentioned previously, I had my heart set on getting myself a goldfish with a white body and orange head and who therefore looked like me and naming it Twin. When I went to the pet store, it was determined that I could house three such fish in my new aquarium. I took the Triplets home in a plastic bag and we were happy together. And 5 days later, they were all dead.

But I had a new aquarium! And decorative gravel, and a ceramic octopus, and about a pound of goldfish food. I was determined to start again. I dreamt of coming home at night to my fishy friend, of looking at him happily splashing in his seascape and being soothed. This fish had become, in my mind, crucial to my mental health during the taper madness, and I wasn't going to let the outcome of my Boston Marathon be determined by a couple of dead bodies in my toilet. I needed a new fish.

But I can't do anything part way. Just like I'd invested in an aquarium and decorative gravel and a ceramic octopus and a pound of fish food instead of a bowl and a few flakes, I was going to find my new fish from the best fish supplier in all of Gotham City. I poured over reviews on Yelp and finally found them: Manhattan Marine Supply. Or maybe that's not their name. Manhattan Aquarium Supply? Whoever they were, they had a long-running streak of being New York Magazine's "Best of New York." They would give me fish I could sustain. The fate of my Boston Marathon was depending on it.

And so, on Monday afternoon, I started walking. Oh wait, let me explain: the Best Aquatic Life Sustaining Store of New York is in Midtown East. My office is in Chelsea. But another aspect of taper madness for me involves walking. Everywhere. It gives me something to do, both in terms of taking up the free time with which I find myself, as well as being somewhat active while not putting stress on my training-weary legs or mind. So on Monday, I started walking from Chelsea and kept going until I reached 38th Street and Second Avenue.

I walked in a found two amiable guys working. They looked like they knew about fish (whatever that looks like). I was hopeful! I poured out my sob story about the Triplets, perhaps expanding their lifespan ever so slightly (it was weeks, not days) as I recounted it, not wanting to look like the homicidal taper-er I had become. I watched as the shopkeepers' expression went from pleasant to concerned to downright disturbed. This was not going well.

"Here's the thing: I'm not gonna sell you another fish, just to... have it die, you know? I mean, morally speaking." Oh my God. I'm mortified. Oh my God. "Morally speaking?!" Oh my God, you're sending the ASPCA to my apartment aren't you?! I put on my bravest face.

"So if you could bring us a water sample, at least 20 mL, but 25 would be best, we'll go ahead and run some tests..."

Run some tests? Jesus, are these fish dying of heart disease?

I smiled and nodded. "25 mL, sure, you got it..." I trailed off, backing out of the store. The ethical implications of selling me a goldfish were too much for New York Magazine's Most Humane Aquarium Supplier in New York. My dreams of staring into the pleasantly rollicking waves of my fishy friend's home within my home, easing all my pre-marathon stress, were being... Well, washed away.

No. I trained to hard for this. I TRAINED FOR THIS FISH. I RAN MILES. HILL WORK. TRACK WORK. I WENT TO PHYSICAL THERAPY FOR THIS GOLDFISH!!! Never mind that this logic didn't even make sense to me, even in my taper addled brain. I. Needed. A. Goldfish. Immediately.

Thank God for Petco. Not only do their employees appear not to have an ethics policy, but they guarantee their fish 30 days from date of purchase. With a water sample, of course.