Marathoning: Part 1

So, a marathoning I went. But where to begin? Logic would dictate the beginning, therefore I'll preface with prerace and work my way up to and through mile 26 and after. It was a long journey and the story that tells it will be long as well. So pull up a chair, make some popcorn, get comfy and let's start, shall we?

It was fucking freezing at 6 am. Not literally freezing, because if I recall correctly the temperature was around 55, but I was shaking in my shoes, sitting on the ground and waiting around to meet a friend at runner's village. The sun was still sleeping and the soft florescent glow of Pentagon parking lot luminescents provided the only light. People navigated the asphalt like wandering spirits without direction or destination. Some sat quietly, listening to ipods or catching a quick nap. Others formed small groups like frontier's men gathering around a unseen desert campfire.

I had driven down from Owings Mills at 4:30 am, reaching Crystal City in a record 45 minutes. It's amazing what empty highways can do for travel. Too bad I so rarely get to experience it sober. Speaking of sober, I was the picture of it that morning. A good shot of whiskey would have been perfect. Just a little something to take the edge off, calm me down and provide some warmth from the inside. A strong pull of Johnny Walker would have more than done the trick. But, alas, whiskey and three and half hours of running rarely turn out well.

I'd made a point to get down to D.C. really early, mostly because I had no idea what I needed to do once I got there and I hadn't the foggiest clue what I was getting myself into. A smart play on any ordinary day, but after arriving I found there was really nothing to do before the race, other than stretch, and I wasn't going to do that for two hours. So mostly I just sat around and shivered and shook and looked for thinkings to take my mind off the cold. Live and learn I guess.

Everything would have been bearable but a friend I was supposed to hook up with beforehand had volunteered to run with a wounded marine - quite a commendable venture - and they were all supposed to stay grouped together. She couldn't get away and I didn't know where she was, leaving us in a holding pattern that eventually turned into an aborted mission. Ultimately, it didn't matter much because we were running different paces, so we wouldn't have seen each other or run together for long.

With the opportunity for chit-chat gone, I turned to other sources of "entertainment". I ate my orange, checked a bag with the UPS people and drank a Gatorade all while people watching to pass the time. Cold weather and an accelerated hydration regiment make for quite a volatile bladder, causing frequent in-prompt-to dances while in the waiting line for a port-a-pot to open up. I think I peed at least four times in the span of when I got to runner's village till the race began and that doesn't include the bathroom break I took in the parking garage (don't worry they had bathrooms, I didn't pop a squat).

Finally, after 45 minutes of stretching and warming up as the sun came up, I made my way through the crowds to the 3:45 start group. When you've got 30k people all trying to begin a race at the same time, an system to order and control the masses becomes imperative to ensure people's safety. There were all kinds of start times posted on cardboard signs held by volunteers who were strategically stuck thick in the middle of the pack, beginning at the start line with the sub 3-hour people and working all the way back to a 6:30 approximate finish. My group was middle front, though looking back I should have started a little further up. I'll explain why later.

There were simply so many people and this was the first time I really got a feel for the scale of the Marine Corp Marathon. In runner's village, everything is so spread out, you get know there are a massive amounts of people around but without a few big congregations sprouting up, it's tough to tell. The lines at the bathrooms looked like the Marine Corp was holding a rock concert, which technically they were if you consider The Spin Doctors rock. However, at the start line, all I could see in front of me were bobbing heads, everything behind were bobbing faces. If that doesn't get your blood pumping, then nothing will. At this point, with just minutes to go, the butterflies got kicked out of my twisting stomach by pure adrenaline. Primal forces begin to take over in situations like that. I couldn't think of anything but getting started. When you're facing a challenge you know could break you and the outcome is uncertain, the mind has an amazing way of focusing. It was a focus I've only experienced a few times in my life. At that moment, nothing else mattered but the race and getting to the finish. Being free of distractions, liberated from the inconsequential and allowed to take things for what they were was a feeling I'll always be grateful for and something I'll never forget.

In the distance, a gun shout rang out, echoing off buildings and the surrounding structures. Everyone around me let out a loud cheer. The race had begun and before I knew it, I was slowly being swept up in a sea of humanity moving in unison toward a common goal. I decided to go for a ride.

To be continued...

Stand up

Greatest phrase of all time:

"Ejaculating stunt-cock"

Thanks defamer.com. Now, if only that was a profession. Goulet!

Note to Self

If you ever have a child, make sure to tell them this:

"The next time you get to choose a team in gym class, I want you to find the little girl or boy who always gets picked last and make sure they don't. Winning a game of dodgeball is not nearly as important as saving someone's life."

I think you'll remember why.

Transition

It seems the day has finally come and like a fine wine after 26 years of fermentation, I'm finally ready. Yesterday, I think I unknowingly entered adulthood. The events that culminated in my maturation are shrouded in mystery but I'll try to explain as best I can.

We had a couple people over to the house for Sunday football. Lately, we've all been getting together, making a loose weekend tradition out of it. Brandi decided to make turkey chili to feed those we were entertaining and, as usual, it was delicious. I asked if it was supposed to be boiling, she told me simmer and asked me if I turned it down. I said no, no one moved and everything turned out just fine. The nice thing about chili is that the recipe makes enough for a small army ensuring leftovers for the week to come. So, after the Raven's game, Brandi packs up the remaining chili in three tupperware containers and places them in the refrigerator.

The next morning, on my way out the door, I swung the refrigerator door open and grabbed a container, thinking that I'd eat it for lunch that day. After a morning of typical Monday boredom, lunch time rolled around and I left my cube a little early to heat up the chili. Is there really anything better than leftover chili (excluding pizza because that's a given)?

Finishing my last bite, I unceremoniously flung the remaining whole tomatoes, which looks like tiny bright red brains and are disgusting, along with a plastic fork into the trash and went to put the container on the shelf in my cube were I normally keep my monthly science experiments. Just as I was about to let go of the bowl, something changed in me, a light switch was flicked, like when the Grinch's heart grows ten times too big. I actually thought to myself, You know, maybe I should wash this out. Not only did I think it, a revelation in and of itself, but I even followed through on the epiphany went to the sink and rinsed the bowl. Not to mention, I remembered it at the end of the day and took it home. Talk about your model citizen and picture of responsible adulthood.

Normally, I would have let the container sit until a healthy colony of penicillin had progressed into the industrial age. I've seen things in past containers that would make God cry - unnatural things, things that were never meant to be. In fact, on a few occasions I created the primordial soup that spawned life a hundred million years ago. Science still won't recognize my findings but I'm working on it.

None of that was happening yesterday, however. I can't help but wonder where this new sense of responsibility came from. Is it a byproduct of age? Do I have a new found affinity for tupperware? Am I going to attend parties in the future? Do they even have tupperware parties any more or did that die in the early nineties along with my innocence? I have no know idea. The only way to insure I maintain my youth, at this point, is to do someone monumentally immature and stupid today to balance things out. Heading downtown tonight for fajitas and maragitas should be the perfect opportunity. Wish me luck.