Riot and Frolic

Notice the post title wasn't "I Ran A Marathon".

Let me tell you, I pictured my marathon experience differently.  When I read about people walking during marathons, I scoffed.  "Obviously, they weren't training," I would say, with my nose in the air.  I imagined my training program would go completely according to plan and I would breeze through the finish area a respectable 4 hours or so from my start time.

WHAT WAS I THINKING?!

Seriously, people.  It's 26.2 miles.  Twenty- six point two MILES.  That's like me running from my house to my old college campus in River Falls, Wisconsin.  Or the Greek soldier running from the Battle of Marathon to Athens, duh.  It's far.  

The training runs took place in the middle of summer… when it's hot.  

I also have a few other responsibilities besides trying to roll my ass out of bed to go on a three hour run.  

So, the training didn't go as well as I wanted to.  Somewhere around July, I thought I pulled my hamstring.  Since it's a rather important muscle, I decided to rest for a week.  And then rest for another week.  

Resting is a slippery slope.  It turns into laziness reeeeeeal fast.  

We also started traveling a lot right when I should have been getting back into it.  Those long run I scheduled for the weekends?  Not so much.  

Nonetheless, I showed up to the start line that sunny (and chilly!) Sunday morning and jumped around with the other lads and lassies in the 3rd corral.  There was a horrible rendition of The Star Spangled Banner, which made me think ,"If they let him sing that, surely they'll let me finish this race."

yeeeaahh

The starting gun went off, people cheered, runners ran, spirits were high.  

Cruising through strips of sun pouring in between the Minneapolis buildings was a bright beginning to the frosty morning.  Chugging by the Basilica, bells a ringin', with Minneapolis' firemen and police cheering on their teams, was inspiration enough to climb the hill to Uptown and continue on towards the lakes.  

Most neighborhoods were packed with lovely groups of people looking for the excuse to party.  Little kids giving high-fives lined the curbs while "Gangnam Style" blared from portable speakers every 3 miles or so.  I did not break out my moves, as I had threatened.

Besides generally feeling taunted by folks hugging their mugs of coffee (or stronger beverages), the crowds were motivational.  Who wants to stop running when people are watching?  

fans!

I knew my parents were going to be at mile 7 and 16; the G and the ladies would around every 6 miles or so; a bunch of my friends would be at mile 25.  After the first 10 miles (which were golden and delicious), these people were the only reason I kept going.  I'm not sure it was The Wall, but it was definitely A Curb.

After mile 11, I thought they stopped marking every mile, and were just marking every other.  Why was mile 11 actually 3.5 miles?  And mile 12, it felt like 2 miles.   And mile 13 was like a mile, because I wasn't there (can you black-out and still run?).  And mile 14?  That was like 4 miles.

In the midst of mile 14, I turned to the guy next to me and said, "We can do this, right?"

"Actually, I'm dropping out at mile 15."

"Well, shit."

That's how I met a nice guy from Mexico City, who was on his 47th marathon.  He gave me some advice and ran with me, cajoling me into a trot to keep up with his "8 minute run, 2 minute walk" routine.  He continued well into mile 17, where I lost him as I stopped to refuel with The G.  That guy was an angel.

After I saw my folks the second time, I felt like I was just killing time until the end.  The last decent pace group had passed me and I was meandering the streets of the Twin Cities.  Lame!

BUT THEN, there was The Bridge.  The delightful, beautiful Franklin Avenue Bridge.  The final hurdle, in my mind.  

yes, I stopped to take this

After that brilliant mile 19 marker, it was all downhill for some reason (although it wasn't really, 'cause you gots to go up up up the River Road and Summit Avenue) and I just kept on swimming.

Hitting Summit Avenue, where the boulevard was lined 3 to 4 deep with cheering people?  CRYING.  Like literal tears rolling down my cheeks.  OH THE HUMANITY, in a good way.  Then I saw my little ladies, and The G, bouncing up and down (well, Mae Cake was eating and not impressed) about three blocks later?  TOO MUCH.  *sob sob*

When I finally reached mile 25, my steadfast friends were waiting impatiently and threatened me to "get moving, our movie's in an hour!" which was surprisingly rousing.  I mean, I really wanted to see that movie!

Crossing the finish line was a relief.  Done!  Here's a medal; go eat something.  

not walking

A couple weeks later, I still think it's worse than giving birth.  Yes, running a marathon is harder than having a baby.  Ladies, there are drugs available for childbirth.  And like, nurses and doctors and beds involved.  But a marathon?  You're going to feel that, the whole time.

One year ago: LLLL