Marathon Post Mortem

Hanging out at the water cooler...

Me: Sooo...what did you do this weekend?
Co-Worker A: I bought some groceries and then made myself a taco salad.
Co-Worker B: I watched the football games and ate some lard.
Me: Oh really? Well, I ran a marathon.
A & B: Wow! You're a god amongst men!

This is what would happen...if I had any co-workers or a water cooler. But I really did run my first marathon yesterday at the Toronto Waterfront Marathon and it was an unreal experience.

I had a lot of things going in my favour. In addition to being giddy from a lack of sleep, I was recovering from a cold. Previously, I had won the first edition of RVD while suffering from bronchitis. As well, I ran my fastest half-marthon shortly after losing my voice. A cold could only mean great things.

I started the day at 6am by stuffing my face with Vector cereal, sports bars and Wonder Bread as quickly as possible. I am naturally a fast eater but the speed required this morning was more on the the level of competitive eating.

At 6:15 am, I was out the door and walking towards the start line. The gun went off at 7am and off we went. Within the first few kilometers, I ran into my friend, Tony, who was doing the half-marathon.

You might remember Tony from my running blog entries around this time last year: I had signed him up for a half-marathon as a "birthday gift" despite the fact that he had only ran one mile in training. He not only completed the half-marathon in the time he predicted (2:30) but went on to do the Run Ottawa Half-Marathon and, now, the Toronto Waterfront Half-Marathon without my machinations.

This time around, Tony was even less prepared, having run a total of half a mile in preparation. Yet, Tony is a master of the sprint and stumble. Thus, he was able to keep up with me and finished with his best time yet (2:23). For me, Tony provided enough companionship and distraction to make the first 18 km a fun morning jog.

After separating from Tony, it was a lonely and painful trek from 21km to 29km. My MP3 player helped me like musical accompaniment during a root canal. Only the prospect of meeting up with Flocons and his fiancé, (>_<), at the desolate landfill known as the Leslie Spit, made me pick up my pace in order to arrive at the designated spot at the agreed time. When Flocons and (>_<) joined me on their bikes, I felt like Lance Armstrong minus the exceptional athletic prowess. Both took turns giving me water, offering sports gels and massaging my ego. They even gave me an unfair advantage over other runners when they used their bikes and bodies to help block the strong head wind - just like Lance's Tour de France team. My friend, Effie, flew in out of nowhere at one point and for the next kilometer, I became subject to a session of good cop, bad cop. Encouraging rounds of "you look great" and "keep it up" were sprinkled with "don't stop now, maggot". It was great. Unfortunately, a burst tire took Effie out of the run and it was back to the soothing, melodious tones of Flocons and (>_<). I speed walked kilmometers 39-41 because every part of me ached: my feet, legs, butt, abdominals and weirdly enough, my arm pits. Flocons and (>_<) peeled off in the last kilometer to avoid being berated by race officials and I was left on my own again.

As I struggled to run/walk the last kilometer, a fellow runner named Susan suggested we run together. Once again, companionship helped prompt me to do things that I otherwise would not be able to do. So, I'm sorry to say that within the last 500 meters of the run, I shouted something like, "Pick it up, girls!" and sprinted away from Susan and another female runner for individual glory at the finish line. This antic shaved a minute off my time but it leaves me feeling a little sheepish nonetheless.

I finished in 5:05, just five minutes over my projected marathon time. It was a great experience and one I recommend to everyone: you do not know what it means to be alive until you feel the wonders of runner's diarrhea.

P.S. That's a photo of 75 year old running phenomenon, Ed Whitlock. He ran the marathon in 3:08, which means that by the time I stumbled past the finish line, he probably had had a refreshing nap and was enjoying free lunch and drinks from a throng of admirers. Cheers to that.