Oct 27, 2009 - What began with a cold, dark walk to the Metro, ended with a Marine putting a medal around my neck. This is my account of the 34^th Marine Corps Marathon. (No, I did not poop my pants.)

Pre-race: "Does anybody here need to use just the urinal?"

In a line of roughly 30 other guys waiting to use the restroom, just five of us moved. Clearly, the others in line had not taken the advice to steer clear of fiber the days before a race. Fortunately for me, it was just a quick visit to the Brooks VIP Porta Potty (obviously the real reason I signed up this race: "flushing toilets, partitioned stalls, climate control, fragrance dispenser, hot and cold water, auto shut-off faucets and even an oak vanity and mirror"). I made my way to my timing "corral" and did my best to keep warm for the next 40 minutes until the race started.

Mile 1: Crap, already need to pee again. Could join the dozens of people in the bushes over there, but decide to wait for a porta potty.

Mile 2: First water station. Find porta potty, use it. Also: ignored high-five request from a guy in pink gorilla suit. He seemed upset.

Mile 3: Was passed by a man who must have weighed 350 pounds. Never saw him again. I just assume he died around mile seven.

Mile 4: Running behind what appears to be a father and son. The son is wearing a t-shirt that says on the back, "Have you seen my sister? She looks like this," and shows a picture of her running from behind. Cute. A man in his 50s runs past the kid, and says, "Hey, your sister's got a nice tail."

Just because you're running a marathon doesn't mean you can't be creepy and perverted.

Mile 5: Cross the Key Bridge in Georgetown. Pop my collar to fit in. This is also the first part of the course that loops, allowing you to see the runners who are much faster than you and already miles ahead. See guy in a devil costume and immediately become enraged. Not because I am a religious person, but because he is in full body paint with horns on his head and is still running roughly a 3:30 pace.

Mile 8: First, and fortunately only, big hill of the race. Pain.

Mile 9: Running through Georgetown, on M Street. Surprised I didn't need to pay a cover. (Is that two hacky jokes about Georgetown? You know it.)

It's also around this point that I begin to realize how well organized this marathon is. Which really should just serve as another reminder: when in doubt, get the Marines involved.

Mile 10: First food station: orange slices. For a few seconds, I am an innocent 9-year old playing soccer again. But that feeing quickly passes, and I am once again a 27-year old punishing myself with 26.2 miles.

Mile 11: See family for the first time on the sides. There really are few things as uplifting as seeing your parents cheering you on. Seriously.

Miles 12-13: Dad comes out to run with me, which probably saved me from going insane: Hains Point may be the loneliest place on Earth when running a marathon.

Also, it is around this time that the winner finished the entire marathon. Yes, the whole thing.

Mile 14: Overheard conversation between two people behind me:

Man: "Congrats on your Ironman!"

Woman (who is sporting an Ironman Triathlon tattoo): "Thanks! Pause. It's actually five..."

Man: "Holy s***!"

Woman: "Yeah, today is just practice."

And thus concludes toady's example of Conversations You Only Hear At a Marathon.

Mile 16: Body beginning to hurt. 

Mile 17: Now running past the Lincoln Memorial, down Constitution, along the National Mall, and see family again. Reapply some Body Glide. This makes sure the nipples don't start bleeding. Doesn't this all sound like fun??

Mile 19: Pain in knees and legs really begin. Oh, and my feet, too. But hey, look - there's the Washington Monument!

Mile 20: Another food stop, this time, Sports Beans. Of all the energy supplements, these are probably my favorite. It's like energy candy! (Gu Gels, you can go straight to Hell.) Make the turn for the 14^th Street Bridge, which is absolutely packed with people cheering ...

 

 

Mile 21: The 14^th Street Bridge is a famous point in the Marine Corps Marathon:

You do not need a qualifying time for "The People's Marathon." However, you will need to be able to maintain a 14-minute per mile pace to Beat the Bridge- All runners must reach 14th Street Bridge (Just before mile marker 20) by 1:15 pm. At that time, the street will reopen to vehicular traffic. If a runner does not reach the 14th Street Bridge on time, he or she will have to board a straggler's bus and may not finish the race.

While I was able to "Beat the Bridge" (or "Beat the Bus," whichever you prefer) with plenty of time to spare, I struggled across 395. Ever run across a highway? It's an odd feeling, like you're in a movie about the end of days, fleeing a city, praying Will Smith will be able to save you.

With no spectators, no shade, and nothing but empty road in front of me, this is where I finally slammed headfirst into the proverbial wall, and had to walk.

Miles 22-24: An absolute struggle. Knees hurt. Legs hurts. Every part of feet hurt with each step. Alternating walking and running and much as I can for this part. It's around now that I begin to question, why, exactly, I voluntarily signed up for this.

Mile 26: Just. One. More. Mile.

By this point I don't care about my time, I've completely forgotten about my training, and I'm not paying attention to my pace. I just want to get this over with. Before I can finish, though, I am greeted to the course's one final, cruel feature: the last 100 yards or so are straight up hill. Because the first 46,000 yards were not tough enough, apparently.

I make the final turn, and finally, I see the finish line, in all its inflatable arch glory. There are few things as exhilarating and relieving as crossing the finish line in a marathon.

 

 

This was my second, and it remains the hardest thing I've ever accomplished. I could barely walk after finishing. My knees were swollen. I was exhausted. I woke up the following day, with everything hurting - neck, back, shoulders, arms, hips, legs - everything. I spent all day Monday moving around like a zombie, shuffling my feet, barely able to walk.

Which is exactly why I'm already planning when to run my next one.