Glorious

At first the wind was cold.  But later I was happy for it.

A front had swept through the night before, rattling the screen door, making it hard for me to sleep.  When the alarm went at 5:15, I had been awake for nearly two hours already, blinking into the darkness, listening to the dog whuffing quietly at every wind-generated creak and whistle, thinking about the chilly early morning coming at me.

I began to fry an egg, but the car full of girls arrived and knocked on my door, so I flipped the uncooked egg into a bowl in the fridge and hurried out to join the carpool.  I had three honey stinger waffles safety-pinned to my shorts, and four dollars pinned to my sports bra.  In the car, tunes were blaring, and three girls with hair spray-painted green were chattering excitedly.  The wind whipped around the car, and we tried to think Warm.

We stopped to pick up a fifth green-haired girl, and then drove down to the parking garage near the starting line.  We parked, got out, and joined the milling throng in the street below, stretching and jabbering and waiting twenty minutes in line for a porta potty.  Twice.  They wrote on their legs in eyeliner.  I ate the first of my waffles.  We met the father of one of the girls, who acted as our gear check guy, taking all of our sweatshirts and water bottles and things in a huge backpack.  He must have taken fifty pictures.  A proud dad.

The time came, and we lined up at the starting line.  Two firetrucks had crossed ladders over the road, and an American flag dangled from one of the ladders.  After somebody had warbled the star spangled banner over the PA system, a voice announced something that none of us could understand, and then we heard the unmistakable boom of the starting gun.  We were off!

I kept with them for the first two miles, but the pace was uncomfortable to me, and I wanted to finish more than I wanted not to be embarrassed.  I let them drop me, fell a little behind.  Then it was just me and the fresh wind, the early morning sun slanting on the high rises.  Just me and several hundred people passing me, I should say.  There was plenty of room, so I didn’t let anyone pressure my pace.

Along the way, I saw a few people I know.  There were bands playing in a few spots, although I wish there had been more.  There were groups of volunteers handing out waters and powerade every few miles.  I took a water at every table.

I felt strong, ran strong.  I ate my second waffle at 5 miles, my third at 9.  I didn’t want last year’s bonk at mile 10 to revisit me, so I kept up those calories.  Mile 10 still sucked.  Miles 10-12 are pretty barren on this course – few cheering spectators, no bands, nothing but the rising sun shining directly into my eyes, and a chilly wind blowing in my face.  I had a brief point of light on this dark stretch – the boys came to cheer me one.  They looked really bewildered at the sight of me, and then wailed when I went by and kept running away from them, but boy did they cheer me up when I saw them!  After that, I slumped again.  Once I saw that big old 12 mile marker, though, I had fresh legs.  One mile left!  One point one miles, to be exact.

About halfway through that last mile, some young guys had set up a table full of whiskey shots, which they were handing out free.  I thought – eh, what the hell? – and took one.  It burned pretty good, and kicked up  my speed a bit more.  I rounded Lee Circle, turned right and then left, and then saw the straightaway to the finish.  I finished with slightly aching joints, but great breathing, great energy, great everything else.  Running over that finish line was pretty sweet.

Every year at the end of this half marathon is a huge party, with a band, lots of food, lots of beer, and absolutely nothing else to drink.  New Orleans!  Bring your own water, but the beer’s free!  We all sat in the grass in the sun, wrapped in our sweatshirts reclaimed from our pack mule dad, drinking beer and talking about our races.  The girls had run the whole thing together, and finished holding hands 16 minutes before I did (I was 2:22:10 this year, 13 minutes faster than last year, and just under an 11 minute mile average!)  A few feet away from us on the grass, a couple of pretty dirty homeless dudes who clearly had nothing to do with the race had surrounded themselves with no less than twenty cups of free beer, and were sucking them down with straws, which they had obviously brought along.  They had jambalaya, hot dogs, red beans and rice – piles of food all around.  I’m not sure what I loved more about that scene – their audacity, or the fact that nobody rousted them out.

We drove home, and after hugs all ’round the girls dropped me off at my place.  The kids bugged the crap out of me while I tried to nap on the couch and ice my knees.  Later, we walked to the park, and they played, and I felt amazing.  Next November, I’ve already decided I am running a full marathon in Pensacola, and raising money for a charity that I have in mind.  I won’t start fundraising yet, or tell you Josie’s story yet, but I would like to hold myself to this by putting it out there online.  Early morning racing in the southern autumn sunlight is something I want to do more of.