The One Where I Ran a Lot

Whoa. I guess it’s time to tear myself away from my needy Sims long enough for an update. Which I intend to NOT edit, on purpose, in keeping with my new “attempting to accept myself as I am and not be so neurotic about the shit I can’t change in order to make other people happy” approach to life. The name still needs work.

So…the (half) marathon. Still finding it necessary to clarify to all and sundry that I did NOT run 26.2 miles, I only ran 13.1, so only half the credit/praise/accusations of craziness is due.

It was an amazing experience. As soon as we were safely out of the chute and past the unhelpfully positioned construction site, I took a moment from my breathing/running/watching my watch to just soak in the experience. The street ahead of me was wall-to-wall people — young, old, fit, fat, slow, fast, whatever — a bobbing, waving river of humanity. I was in awe. I got goosebumps, just like I do when someone actually sings well during an American Idol audition. Then I settled down to look for mile marker 2, which was much further away than I thought it should be. Ditto for the next 5, at which point I stopped looking for them in order to focus all my attention on a long, tall, never-ending mountain it appeared I was supposed to run over. I remember remarking that, “there damn well better be an aid station at the top of this bitch,” before realizing the two church ladies who’d been blessing everyone for the last seven miles were right behind me. But I didn’t get exorcised or anything, so I just chugged right up that sucker to find…no liquids of any kind.

At that point my running partner, who’d been suffering from a cold, threatened to stop and walk, urging me on. I’m not sure if it was genuine heroism or if I thought I’d suddenly landed in a James Cameron film, but I stubbornly refused, declaring, “We trained together, we started together, we will finish together. That’s how it will be and I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Which worked for about two more miles when she suddenly stopped in the middle of the road and gave me a hard shove, wheezing, “Just go. I’m stopping here.” I went, but spent the next two miles mentally berating myself, completely convinced everyone around me thought I was a shit for abandoning my partner.

Now if the math adds up, I think we’re up to the last mile, which was by far the worst. It was the twistiest, hilliest bastard I’d run all day and it didn’t help that the volunteers at every turn kept cheering, “Keep going! It’s just around the corner.” I know they meant well, but after the eighth such announcement I wanted to shout, “Which fucking corner?” except I was out of breath and so thirsty I almost knocked over a little boy for his water bottle. At last I turned into the gate at the park, running hard with my last reserves of energy toward the orange cones and the high school drumline beating out a helpful 3/4 time. I got right up to them before I realized they weren’t the finish — it was just around another damn corner. Finally I was in the chute, crossing the electronic reader as a voice called out my name and time, which I misheard as “2:24:something” instead of the actual 2:34:something, which accounts for the inordinately goofy grin I sport in my finish line photo. Then I collected my T-shirt, medal and free sports drink, got in my car and drove 3 hours home. The knees did not love this, but I had no choice. I had to get on a plane to Italy the very next day, and I hadn’t even packed yet.

But that’s another story for another day. Now off to catch up with the faves. And hey, to those of you who left me “where are you?” notes…thanks. I needed that today.

Because I post here, I don’t really have anything to post here. I might try someday anyway. . I don’t accept notes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t comment.