Marathon!

Posted by: Jen

This weekend I ran my first marathon ever! And I made it through! And I didn't die! And I liked it!

The weekend started with Chris and I traveling upstate to meet Sammi, a friend from high school and the last part of our marathon group. We stayed with Chris' parents somewhere outside of Albany, and his mother made sure we were well fed! So, there we were, in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do, so Chris, Sammi, Sammi's husband Ehren and I decided to go to the local bar. And we got drunk.

Ooops. Well, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

The next morning Chris and I woke up and went for a pre-marathon hungover run. We were ready. Then we met Sammi and Ehren, and their dog, a cockapoo named Sissy, to travel up to Burlington. The drive was long, and I slept off my hangover for a lot of it. I asked Chris if he wanted me to drive, but he spewed something about real men being able to drive for more than three hours at a time and I went back to sleep. Then when I woke up we drove by a donkey farm, and then a farm with a giant Camel. Oh wilderness, what will you have for me next?

That night, the marathon sponsored an all you can eat dinner and it was pretty good. Not worth the $25 I paid for it but it was probably better for me than going to TGIFriday's and drinking a giant margarita for dinner.

The next morning we woke up at 5:30 and I drank a coffee and three bottles of water and ate a bagel with peanut butter. I was really concerned about having caffeine, and being dehydrated, and pooping. Everything worked out fine, in case you were wondering.

At the start, it was basically impossible to move, because of all of the liar liar pants on fire people who totally say they are going to run 6 minute pace, but actually run 16 minute pace. I hate them. I lined up responsibly, why can't they? Ms. Vermont sang the national anthem. Someone said something about supporting our troops. The gun went off. I stood there for a full minute and a half while the 12 minute milers got on their way.

The first 10 miles were really easy, and I know that sounds ridiculous, but I was so excited I didn't feel it at all. And ran way too fast. Oh well, I was having fun! I learned how to drink and run (squish the cup and funnel it out) after I spilled Gatorade all over my shirt and a guy running next to me felt bad and showed me how.

I went through the half in great time, and still didn't feel anything. I started to worry about the impending doom of running 13 more miles.

At mile 15, there was "the hill", complete with war drums at the bottom and a crowd of people bent on seeing some good old fashioned suffering. I decided to check myself before I wreaked myself and slowed down to a more sensible pace.

At mile 18 I ate the goo, which for those of you who don't know, is a small package of sugar/carbs/calories and flavored like something. It gives you instant energy and mine was flavored like chocolate so it reminded me of nasty frosting. It works miracles -- I had no idea how much my body was eating my brain up until that point until I ate the goo and suddenly had remarkable mental clarity. Then it made me really thirsty and there was no water for the next mile.

At mile 20 a giant blister that had been building on my right foot decided to pop. It basically felt like someone was slicing open the bottom of my foot with a flaming hot knife. I slowed down to a 10 minute mile and waited for it to numbe up so I could run again.

At mile 21 my thighs started to hurt. I told myself 5 miles was nothing -- less than what I do after work on an easy day. I am really, really good at lying to myself to get myself through these things.

At mile 23, I was tired. I don't think I hit the wall, per se, but I definitley couldn't run much faster than 9:30 pace. I told myself not to stop, because goddammit, I gave up Friday nights for running!

Mile 24, someone set up a beer station. I got a Dixie cup full of beer and took it like a shot, and suddenly felt fabulous. I considered going back for more, but don't want to mess up my time.

Mile 25. The beer had worn off. Fuck. My legs REALLY started to hurt. The relay team people (yeah, they allowed teams of 2 to 5 people to run the marathon as a relay -- WEAK) were whizzing by me, probably only on mile 5. Bitches, on a normal day I would eat you for breakfast.

Mile 25 1/2, the crowd was there, cheering! Fuck. That meant I had to look good. I tried to pick up the pace and look like I was a good runner.

Mile 26, the announcer saw me coming in and said my name. The crowd was cheering. I summoned the last of the beer energy and sprinted to the finish. I slowed down to a rubbery walk, made a face and mouthed "Oh fuccccckkk" and instantly a medical person was asking me if I needed assistance. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt and was glad I was vain enough to put on blush before the race or else they'd be carting me off to the ambulance right then and there.

I ran 3:29!

So, all in all, it wasn't awful -- I actually liked it and want to do another. I'm crazy, I know. Today I can walk a little bit better, but basic things like sitting down, standing up, walking up and down stairs and anything over a slow walk are still pretty challenging.