Here's another true story direct from the inbox. I love our athletes.
"As you might have surmised, I am not one of your clients who would pass out at a race, take a breather in the back of the ambulance and then get back out there, face screwed into a Sports Illustrated photo of grim determination. I am not Agnes who powers through windstorms and fog to her own John Williams soundtrack and I am not NSQ who continues to race on whilst vomiting every several hundred yards. I would simply open the ambulance door, strap myself on the gurney, ask for a piece of paper to make out my will and say 'if you could put a little Absolut vodka in the IV drip, I would really appreciate it.'"