Originally Posted by Stallionforce

I borrow my buddy's duck, who is domesticated (named Stravinsky, but also I call it any Russian composer, like Moussorgsky or Prokofiev. What the f&&k, the beast doesn't understand anyway) to the race with me, and take the first two warmup laps with it on my shoulder, feeding it bread. I then leash the duck to my car doorhandle with 30 minutes to go to complete my warmup. After the race, I castigate, berate, insult, and, finally, remonstrate with the animal over my inevitable dismal finish, before cutting it loose. I guess I am the reverse of most in that my superstitions are not borne of any intersection of circumstance and success, but from a sheer love of absurdity.

And soy sauce -- I drink a bottle of soy sauce on the start line.