So, let me go through my own marathon experience with you. First, we get to the marathon, to find that we have to walk all the way around the gear check/meeting areas/first aid/massage area/finish area just to get into it. Only one end was available for entry, apparently. Next, no toilet paper, and pee all over the port-a-potty, and do I mean everywhere. Then, we finally get to the corrals, and I attempt to get to my starting area. No go. So, standing, waiting, waiting…I feel a hand on my butt. Then another, then another, etc. Someone caressed my arms. Twice. 5, count ‘em, 5 men touched my butt. I was surrounded by testosterone and the testosterone chose not to reign itself in. Kinda the theme of the run, it turns out. We finally get started, and I was having a hard time running any kind of decent pace because of the crowds (I will never run another large marathon), and I’m worrying about wasting energy dodging and weaving. Cue the first water stop: imagine people who have been walking through the desert with no water for 2 weeks, and have finally come upon a water and food supply. That’s what it felt like. (At every water station.) Couple that with orange and banana peels on the ground, as well as dried fruit and water. I slipped. Skipping ahead to mile 19, after having been pushed at every water station, speeding up and slowing down nonstop to get around all the men who kept cutting me off, and frequently having to come more or less to a standstill at the bottlenecks and from being behind people who would just stop and walk in the middle of the road. I was on pace and felt great until around mile 19, when it struck me how much my legs were fatigued due to the above mentioned stupidity. I pretty much did the smartest thing I could do at that point. I realized I would not make my time goal, unless I spent the next 7 miles doing more of the same, most likely injuring myself in the process. My thighs were starting to cramp by then, and I was losing focus, and more and more men kept cutting me off, so I threw in the towel and chalked this one up to a shitty experience. It hurts that I did not make my goal, but I finished despite the shoving, the 75 degree weather, having my ass grabbed, and all of the other annoying little things that wear you out when you’re trying to go the distance. Lumpy and I were just sitting here whispering about this marathon. I was wondering if I have a sub-4 hr marathon in me. He thinks I do, and frankly, I know I do. I just don’t know how to find the race that matches my needs. Definitely one that does not have 35,000 people running it.
OH, I forgot to mention the 2 spectators I saw at mile 23, pushing aside runners to get to the free fruit and water. That was neat. Really, really neat. I hate this place. (ok, just these idiots…) It’s 12:40 now and I should attempt to get some more sleep in. More later.
What else can one expect in a crowd of 35,000 people all massed together???
Bummer! Double bummer!! That wall around 19 miles is brutal (so they say; my wall hits after around 50 yards of running…) There are other marathons. Earlier, I’d invited you to do Portland’s. It’s not Paris, but we’re butt-grabbers, either.
Will the blog continue as Toots and Sally train for other events?
all massed together in France!
I’m so sorry that it was (in part) such a sorry experience. I knew when I checked the marathon website yesterday morning and saw your time that something must have happened and that you were probably at the very least disappointed. So first let me say that I’m glad you finished and that is a huge accomplishment no matter what. I hope you feel that too, when you are rested up and feeling better. Second I hope you can quickly get to the place of appreciating all that came of this experience even though so much of it sucked in the moment! I know it’s a cliche but true that some of the must disappointing and unwelcome experiences can be the ones we learn the most from. Not that you really needed some of those lessons. (People can be amazing jerks the world over - not just Americans.) ;o} I’m so glad to read that you were not physically hurt. I was concerned yesterday. And of course you have a sub 4-hr Marathon in you. This experience is no reason to doubt that.
I would call this experience a whole different type of Marathon. I’ll look forward to you coming up with the most apropos name. At the very least you will have some great (you know, in a horrible way) stories to tell.
Now get out there and have a fabulous time with the rest of your trip.
May you be free of ass-grabbers for the remainder of your travels.
stay away from the Italians !
This arrived in my mailbox today and made me think of your journey so I am sharing it.
Hope you don’t think I’m completely off base………..
Tricycle’s Daily Dharma: April 16, 2007
Toward Ultimate Things
Only the walker who sets out toward ultimate things is a pilgrim. In this lies the terrible difference between tourist and pilgrim. The tourist travels just as far, sometimes with great zeal and courage, gathering up acquisitions (a string of adventures, a wondrous tale or two) and returns the same person as the one who departed. There is something inexpressibly sad in the clutter of belongings the tourist unpacks back at home. The pilgrim is different. The pilgrim resolves that the one who returns will not be the same person as the one who set out. Pilgrimage is a passage for the reckless and subtle. The pilgrim–and the metaphor comes to us from distant times–must be prepared to shed the husk of personality or even the body like a worn out coat. A Buddhist dictum has it that “the Way exists but not the traveler on it.” For the pilgrim the road is home; reaching your destination seems nearly inconsequential. –Andrew Schelling, Meeting the Buddha, edited by Molly Emma Aitken