October was supposed to be about zombies, but I was distracted by the marathon and struggling kids and the compulsion to return to my Haunts poem (see 16 oct). Also, the upcoming election. After the marathon, on October 5, I recording some memories of the 5+ hour experience:
26 Things: a-z
asphalt. For the first half of the race, the road was cracked and cratered and rutted. A few of the biggest holes were marked with bright orange or green spray paint. The asphalt was the worst at Bde Maka Ska.
brrr. The weather was wonderful during the race, but chilly before it started. So much wind! Most people had on extra sweatshirts that they planned to donate at the start line — me too. A few brave runners were in tank tops. Even with extra layers, it was cold. A woman ahead of me in the port-a-potty line who was wearing running tights and a running jacket was violently shaking.
caboose. I was not at the very end of the race — I finished ahead of 450 people — but I was near the end. The winner finished in 2 hours and 10 minutes. I finished in 5 hours and 37 minutes. That’s a long time for people to be out on the course cheering. The spectators were still amazing, but I could tell the energy was not at its highest level. In the last few miles I noticed people leaving the course, their signs tucked under their arms. Walking through the finish area, volunteers were packing up and most of the food was already gone.
dogs. Some spectators brought dogs. The only dog I recall seeing was a GIANT ball of black fur asleep next to a guy sitting in a lawn chair on the edge of the road. I do remember hearing lots of runners calling out, dogs! or puppies! or your dog is so cute! or hi, puppy!
electrolytes. At the hydration stops, you could grab a cup of water or a cup of electrolytes. Almost always, I grabbed water, but once I foolishly grabbed electrolytes. Yuck! Not sure why, but I was expecting something that would taste like Gatorade. It did not. It tasted like salt water and made me feel sick.
finish line. Miles 22-25ish are on Summit, high above the capitol. For the last stretch, you run down a hill, the finish line in sight. You’re almost there!, people were calling out, you can see the finish line! Yes, I could see the finish line, but it didn’t feel like I was almost there. It looked so far away, and it was, until it wasn’t, and I was done and Scott was waiting there for me.
glimping. After the race, I mentioned to Scott that I would probably be limping the next day (yep, I am), and he thought I said “glimping” which led us both to try and imagine what glam limping (think, glamping but for limps) might look like.
hat. At the beginning of the race, we were following behind a guy in a pink hat. He looked relaxed and smooth and Scott said, look for the chill guy in the pink hat and run like him. We were near him until Bde Maka Ska, but lost track of him when he stopped to use the port-a-potty.
impossible dream. Running between the lake street bridge and the railroad trestle, I heard some singing — to dream the impossible dream/to fight the unbeatable foe — a male voice, lots of vibrato. I thought it might be someone actually singing and not a recording. Wow, I was impressed. But when Frank Sinatra’s “My Way” came on next I decided it was only a recording. When I reached the source of the music I realized it was the house that puts up bleachers every year for watching and cheering. What a party!
jingle bells, the farts version. Somewhere along minnehaha parkway a speaker was playing a version of jingle bells where each note was a fart. I told Scott that we should remember to tell RJP (I did); the two of them love listening to fart playlists on spotify and apple music.
kids. My favorite kid was on Summit. He was holding a microphone that was hooked up to a speaker, calling out, We have to share! It’s my turn to use it now! then, Who doesn’t like mac and cheese?
lakes. Lake of the isles, Bde Maka Ska, Lake Harriet, Lake Nokomis. As we finished each lake, I called out to Scott, another lake done! I wasn’t able to do that with Lake Nokomis because we split up right before we got to it. Lake Nokomis was the hardest lake to run around — windy and long. I remember walking by the little beach and thinking about open swim.
music. There were rock bands and concert bands and drummers and sousaphones and some brass instrument that sounded like a bellowing elk. And music from “official” speakers and make-shift speakers and smartphone speakers. “Eye of the Tiger,” “We are the Champions,” “I Wanna Dance with Somebody,” “The Impossible Dream.” A group of runners behind us, changing the words of a Gwen Stefani song to This race is bananas B A N A N A S! In past years, I might have listened to a playlist through my headphones. Not today.
neighborhoods. One of the reasons I wanted to run the twin cities marathon is because the course passes through all of my old neighborhoods. Downtown, not too far from the apartment we lived in when we moved back here in 2007. Lake of the Isles and Bde Make Ska: where we lived the first time we moved here from California in 1998, when we fell in love with Minneapolis. I roller-bladed, biked, and walked around these lakes a lot in my early 20s. Around Lake Nokomis where I swim all summer. On Minnehaha Parkway, only 2 blocks from our first house. The falls, the river road, 4 blocks from my current house. Most of the rest of it, until mile 21 at the start of Summit, followed my regular running route for the last 10 years. Some of it looked familiar, some of it made strange by the effort of running for so long.
other-worldly. Out there on the course for 5 1/2 hours, I was somewhere else. Familiar places became unfamiliar, time stopped passing or passed so strangely with no steady beat. I was no longer Sara, but aching calves, blistered feet, sore forearms, feet moving forward. I didn’t think about poetry or the meaning of life or what to do to help FWA grieve for the loss of his beloved community.
poop. I’ve struggled with constipation for a few years now, and in the last month, it got worse, making my long runs harder. Before the race, I was worried — in a state of preoccupooption as RJP and I have named it. The morning of the race, I couldn’t finish my business before we left. I used the port-a-potty twice before the race and twice during the first 10 miles*. It didn’t help much, but it was enough to prevent any incident that would later be recounted as my “poop story.” Pooping is an obsession for a lot of runners. Ask them about their poop story. At one point during the race, I remember hearing a racer talking to someone else: I read that you need to get up several hours before the race to eat something so you make sure you are able to poop in time. Yes, she said poop, and more than once, and not quietly. You need to poop. I had a bagel so I could poop. I managed to poop. I don’t have a problem with her saying poop; pooping is a wonderful thing and the word poop should be said more, and without shame, maybe sometimes with reverence.
*according to Scott, I stopped FOUR times during the first `10 miles. Yikes.
quest. Post-race, I’m disappointed that I didn’t push myself more, but I need to remember that that was never what I was aiming for. I wanted to be able to start the race, and once I started, to finish, then to recover quickly so I can enjoy fall running.
river. Crossing the Franklin bridge near 2 other runners, I heard one of them look at the river — a blue ribbon sparkling in the sun — and say something like, this marathon is hard, but we get to see this! And I thought, yes! this is the beautiful river I get to run beside almost every day!
strong. During the last 10 miles of the race, I regrouped. It was still difficult, but I ran more than I thought I could. And every time I ran, I felt strong. Several of the spectators called to me, you’re looking so strong! you’ve got this.Once when I stopped for a walk break, a kind runner passed me, gently touched my back, and said, I’ve been watching you and you look so strong. You can do this! Keep going!
t-rex. At least twice, I saw someone dressed in a t-rex costume by the side of the road. The first time, Scott pointed them out to me, but the second time I saw them on my own. What’s the deal with t-rexes? (I asked Scott and he said the t-rex has been a thing for several years).
unreadable. It didn’t bother me, because I’m used to it, but with my bad vision I couldn’t read any of the fun or encouraging or strange signs that people were holding up. When Scott laughed at one, I asked what it said. Run bitch!
vikings. In past years, I’ve enjoyed watching football, but recently I’ve lost my love for it, especially for the Vikings who always seem to disappoint. Even so, this year they are undefeated, and hearing spectators calling out the score as we ran, 10 – 0, 20 – 0, or listening to the game while they cheered, was fun and distracting and felt very Minnesotan. Scott’s dad, a big vikings fan, would have loved the season so far if he were still alive. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I enjoyed hearing the score; it reminded me of his dad.
walz. At mile 20, you run by gov. walz’s house. I thought I heard someone cheering there and imagined how cool it would be if it were gov walz. I don’t think he was there when I passed by but later Scott told me that he had been outside cheering on runners.
eXhilarated. At the beginning of the race, during the first 2 miles, Scott was so excited. He talked about running this race again and how pumped up he was. I was happy to be there, but couldn’t match his enthusiasm. I was not exhilarated, I was waiting for the moment when it got very hard.
you can do hard things. So much support from spectators. Most of it straightforward encouragement, you’ve got this, you can do hard things, you’re amazing. Some of it slanted: you’re crazy! or look at you out here running and look at me enjoying my bagel! The one sign I could actually read just said, Why?
zephyr*. While the wind wasn’t gentle, it was blowing from the west. In the first mile, it almost blew my hat off. Then it was at our backs. Then I forgot about it until we reached the east side of Lake Nokomis where it was really blowing. A woman’s signs, stacked on a table, blew off and into the road. I briefly thought about stopping to help her then remembered I was racing and should probably keep going.
*I was struggling to come up with a z. Thankfully Scott thought up zephyr, which means west wind