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June 03, 2006

runningburro makes her debut...

7:25 am/Starting Line: This was the second best part of the whole race -- the anticipation of how I’m going to kick some ass and surprise all of my friends and family with my running prowess. This kind of thinking was, of course, a strategy to cover up all the nervousness I had about my parents and rainbowhair being there: I would be mortified not to finish.

I’m still reeling from the incredibly poor rendition of our fine country’s national anthem when the gun goes off prematurely.

Mile 1: Deb takes off like a shot. Madeline and I follow at a slower pace, and we begin a conversation that would repeat itself until Mile 22 or thereabouts:

Me: It’s hot.
Madeline: I’m sweaty.
Me: And this is hard. It’s too damn hot. I’m no good in the heat (already making excuses
just in case I don’t kick some ass .
Madeline: Deb is going to qualify for Boston. She’s crazy.

Mile 2: There are very few spectators -- mainly a handful of folks living in condos along the lake (Lake Erie, that is) who are watching us while drinking their morning coffee. I have an irrational surge of affection for these people, who wave at us and wish us good luck. I begin giving a “thumbs up” in return, which makes me feel cool, like an astronaut about to board a space shuttle. Madeline opts for a “thanks!”

Around the 2.5 mark we are lapped by the folks who will complete the marathon in times that make people whistle and say, “Whowhee -- they run so fast, they’re blurry.

Mile 3: First water stop. Smiling people handing out cups, calling “Water here. Gatorade ahead.” Quick decisions must be made. Which do I want? Should I take one of each? Should I stand to the side and drink or try to drink while in motion? I am terrified that I will cause a traffic jam at the table. I followed Madeline’s lead and all goes well.

Mile 5: The course here forms a loop. Deb heads toward us, already through the second water stop. We are sure that she is going to die of heat exhaustion from running too damn fast. We are jealous and proud of her.

At the second water stop, I take two drinks, down them, and chuck the cups on the ground. Madeline says, “you look like a pro at that.” My crush on her gets a little bigger.

Mile 6-7: The miles, while fast, are not getting easier. More whining on my part about the heat. Fear that we won’t get to the halfway point by 2.5 hours and will be kicked off the course. Fear that Madeline will get tired of my whining and leave me to die in the heat.

Miles 9-11: We enter a cemetery, where a course volunteer shouts, “Plenty of water and shade inside.” This man will forever burn in hell for his lies.

Miles 12-22: I have no clear recollection of the exact series of events that occurred after this point. I, of course, blame this on the heat. I distinctly remember a few things, however:

Making the halfway point in 2:10 (thinking, “we so rule this course!”)
Choking down my first GU
Digging the volunteers who stop hostile Buffalo traffic for us -- such nice
people
Agreeing with Madeline that we should volunteer for one of these things (no
running involved!)
Hating the jackass volunteer at mile the 19 water stop who tries to “encourage” walking
runners to “pick up the pace” by saying “Only runners get water! Come on!” We
call him dirty names under our breath.
Being overwhelmed by the kindness of strangers -- people who were not official
race volunteers who had their lawn hoses set up like makeshift sprinklers so that we could cool down

Mile 22 (approximately) At this point, some of the mile markers have disappeared, along with the race volunteers who stop traffic and offer guidance as to the course route. Madeline and I are walking a bit, limping along, me panting. I’m walking because I feel like I’m going to pass out. Madeline is walking because her knee hurts. We are a sorry sight. We break into a shuffle (a run-walk kind of thing). Madeline stops.

(Disclaimer: the following dialogue is only somewhat representational of actual
conversation that took place between runningburro and Madeline. Parts
have been changed to highlight the drama of the situation).

Madeline: Leave me! You still have some strength left!
Me: I’ll never leave you! Dude, I want to walk! Do you think I want to run? I’m
only running because you want to run!
Madeline (adopting a Michael Corleone godfather accent): Runningburro, if
you don’t leave me, you’ll disappoint me.
Me: No.
Madeline: Yes.

And so on and so forth.

I don’t really remember how we got separated. We both started our run-shuffle again, and near a water stop, she fell back a bit and I kept going. I remember thinking, “I’ve just proven that if I were climbing Mt. Everest with a friend and that friend hurt her knee, I would be the sort of person who would leave my friend to be eaten by Polar Bears (if they lived on the Mountain) and save my own skin.” I am so tired that I can’t even muster up any real self-loathing.
Mile 23.5: I see an exhausted, broken runner taken away on a stretcher. I consider fake-fainting so that the firefighters will put me on a stretcher, too (perhaps I could convince them to carry me across the finish line?)

Miles 24-26: Some lady, partying on her front porch with friends, offers me a beer (which I decline). I strike up a friendship with a 60 + old woman, also running, who is nowhere near as tired as I am. I use her as my pacing rabbit, and am pleased (evil me) when I leave her in the dust.

Mile 26.2 -- The home stretch. I round the last corner of the race, onto to Franklin St. I see the finish line ahead. My well-laid plans to sprint the last 100 yards or so fizzle because it’s all I can do to keep shuffle-running. Suddenly, I see Deb (a.k.a. my new running idol)! And Rainbow hair! And they’re cheering for me! And then I see me parents: dad is smiling and mum is yelling “go sissy!” [My parents rock].

And suddenly I feel fine.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my mother running on the sidewalk, bringing me into the finish line. She is a blur of color and energy. (I am simultaneously pleased and horrified by this gesture. It was a Christmas miracle of sorts because my mother is not really a “running type,” and I was terrified that she would trip and split her head open -- yet, she seemed possessed by some sort of fleet-footed spirit).

The finish line announcer gets on the mike, “Here comes number 543, Runningburro from Syracuse, NY. Our neighbor.” I give a little smile, and a little wave, and I cross the finish line: 5:16:30.

A lovely woman bearing a finisher’s medal comes up to me and says, “Let me put your medal on you.” And she does. And I want to kiss her and everyone else in the immediate area (I restrain myself and only kiss the people I know).

Soon after, Madeline comes through the finish line and I am so happy to see her. She gives me “five” as she makes her way to the mat, and I just want to give her a big hug (which I get to do at the finish line). Cheering her in feels as good as crossing the finish line.

After the race, I’m left with a sense of accomplishment and a confirmation of Madeline’s greatness. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have run the race in the first place or finished it. I make plans to steal her from her husband.

Posted by at June 3, 2006 11:06 PM

Comments

Posted by: madeline at June 4, 2006 07:45 AM

Posted by: susansinclair at June 4, 2006 07:01 PM