Early morning party at my house- Why wasn't I invited?

Attendees: Stan, Dave, Spencer, Troy, and Brad holding a water bottle Timmy with his football. At least Troy put sandals on over his pajamas
The police cars were all over.
Jessie and her Mommy, Anna
A splendid view of the port-a-potties
Sierra

The Salt Lake Marathon happens every year, and every year, it is like a surprise party. We live right on the route, and we live at mile 14, so there is always a big to-do in our front yard that morning. A lot of our neighbors came over to watch from our driveway. We have front row seats.
We are always awakened in the morning by loud music, cheering and cries of "Water! Water" and "Gatorade! Gatorade!" The runners get thirsty and want to know what is in the cups that the volunteers thrust at them as they pass.

The first year we lived in our house, we were remodeling the bathroom, and the back wall was torn out. It was enclosed by a semi-transparent plastic. Well, the marathon committee didn't plan on enough port-a potties, and two lady runners, came up to Troy and asked if they could use our bathroom. (He was sitting in a lawn chair in the driveway.) He said as long as they didn't value their privacy, they were welcome to use it. They both used it.

That same year, the volunteers came over and told Troy that they ran out of toilet paper, and asked if they could borrow some. He lent it to them. They didn't return it (thank goodness). So, you can call us active supporters of the SL Marathon.

I'm told (I am still snuggled up in bed when this happens) the bikers come zooming past around 5ish. About an hour later the crazy fast men runners start to show up. This may be un-PC but Troy tells me they are almost all black guys. (I am still snoozing) Next comes the fast white guys and the super fast women. By the time I roll out of bed, around 7am, and look out the window, there are the quick runners, both men and women. After my shower, the joggers come past.

By the time I'm dressed and outside, the slowest stragglers are passing. (Don't get me wrong, they are ALL going faster than I would be; I am just comparing them to those completing the marathon. The last person, I felt sorry for her, but proud of her for finishing, was followed slowly by a police car, then by the slow-moving procession of vehicles that anxiously awaited the road opening.

By about 11 am, the road is open again, the band has packed up, the volunteers are gone, and the port-a-potties have been hauled off. All evidence of the marathon has disappeared. Too bad house parties don't clean themselves up the same way. I'd have a party every weekend if that was the case.