More
Contact
Submit
Premium
So, I did it. In the bitter cold and the pouring rain, I crossed the finish line at the 2011 LA Marathon. That was on Sunday, and I am writing this Tuesday night.
I. am. in. so. much. pain.
I'd like to make a formal apology to the gods for my hubris when I smugly stated to a friend that I was "indestructible". (To be fair, I was referring to my ability to deflect acid/radioactive rain during the marathon, and not to running the 26.2 miles itself). I take back my haughty presumptions of invincibility and would like to publicly acknowledge my human frailty. Now, please, make my feet go back to their normal size, and if you could give me the strength to walk without limping and cringing with each step, it would be very much appreciated.
The marathon didn't go as smoothly as I had planned it.
First of all, in the useful information packet they gave to me last Saturday, I learned that I should be there no later than 6 a.m. No problem, just go to bed early and wake up at around 4:30, leisurely drive to Dodger Stadium, maybe have a protein shake or a coffee before, saunter over to the starting line at around six to begin my mental prepartion, right? Easy as pie, right? Wrong.
First of all, I had to work the night before at the Capital Grille until around 9 pm. Thats 9 hours of being on my feet when my body should have been building up the oh so useful glycogen stores. After work, I made the infamous carboload dinner consisting of pasta and marinara sauce. At this point, its 11 pm and I'm freaking out about my ability to wake up on time because when I am sleeping it is nearly impossible to wake me up unless you shake me violently or blow a fog horn in my ear. Alarm clocks are virtually useless.So, when I went to bed on Saturday night, it was with the knowledge that I would quite possibly sleep in, regardless of any effort I made or failsafes I put in place.
Despite the overwhelming sense of dread, I slept like a rock.
When I jumped out of bed at 6:30 a.m. instead of 4:30 a.m. and realized that the start of the marathon would be in exactly one hour, I went into panic mode, becoming less human and more primal Looking back, I see my movements were a little like a rat thats just been placed in a snake terrarium--chaotic, terrified, frantic.
Not that there was any danger of being eaten by reptiles if I didn't get to Dodger stadium on time, but me running from bathroom, to closet, to kitchen, to closet, back to bathroom repeatedly over a period of five minutes made me feel like I had lost all civilized rationality.
When I pulled up to Dodger stadium at 7:30, there was no traffic. Of course, because all traffic had ceased 90 minutes ago, when everyone had *finished* arriving. However, I was informed there was no parking. The corpulent man who told me this seemed to have a hard time hiding his impish glee when he suggested that I "park at the bottom of the hill." Park at the bottom of the hill I did, about a mile away from Dodger Stadium. Since the start of the race was supposed to be at 7:30, I was feeling something resembling hysteria. I imagined bringing up the very back of the marathon like that pathetic rhinocerous bringing up the back of the stampede in the movie Jumanji (see below).
As I was sprinting up the hill to the starting line, spectators turned around to point and laugh at the presumed late sleepers. How funny, they must have thought, to start off a twenty six mile race with a grueling sprint up a steep hill. Fortunately for my pride, I wasn't the only one who was running late. I somehow ended up running in a group with about four other stragglers as the national anthem blared over the loud speakers.
With an empty stomach and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I began the LA marathon. I'll admit, I was a little stoned, as it is my habit to partake of medical marijuana (sports medicine) before a run. That's probably why when I looked around and saw I was running next to guys who looked like this:
I really didn't think it was that strange.
Maybe next marathon I won't pace myself for the first seven miles with the men's elite running. By mile seven, when I had sobered up enough to realize that I was a) running next to some super fast professional running motherfuckers and b) starting to get really exhausted-- I thought it would possibly be a good idea to slow down.
The rest of the race went swimmingly, literally and figuratively speaking. Amidst the bitter cold rain and wind, I finished in record time and then proceeded to freeze my balls off. At the end of the race, I couldn't find my ride home and ended up wearing three space blankets and shivering convulsively until I conned my friend Mark to pick me up from the Georgian Hotel. I can't stress enough how miserable I felt after the race. Barely able to walk, exhausted, dehydrated, shivering, and cold. When Mark finally pulled up to a side street in his little black Honda, I had literally never been so happy to another human being in my entire life. The first thing he said to me was
"Whats wrong with you? Why are you walking so funny?"
I didn't realize I was walking funny, but my best guess would be either that I couldn't feel my feet or that I just ran twenty six miles. I would like to publicly thank Mark on my blog, regardless of the way he made fun of me nonstop for the next day and a half, for saving my ass from the cold and rain. I owe you one.
The Great Wall of China Marathon is happening in exactly two months, and I'm pretty much scared to death. I don't know what the road to recovery from this ordeal will look like, or how soon I should start training again, but like the LA Marathon, I'm pretty sure it isn't going to go as smoothly as I anticipate.
That's okay, because adventure is the spice of life.
I'd like to make a formal apology to the gods for my hubris when I smugly stated to a friend that I was "indestructible". (To be fair, I was referring to my ability to deflect acid/radioactive rain during the marathon, and not to running the 26.2 miles itself). I take back my haughty presumptions of invincibility and would like to publicly acknowledge my human frailty. Now, please, make my feet go back to their normal size, and if you could give me the strength to walk without limping and cringing with each step, it would be very much appreciated.
The marathon didn't go as smoothly as I had planned it.
First of all, in the useful information packet they gave to me last Saturday, I learned that I should be there no later than 6 a.m. No problem, just go to bed early and wake up at around 4:30, leisurely drive to Dodger Stadium, maybe have a protein shake or a coffee before, saunter over to the starting line at around six to begin my mental prepartion, right? Easy as pie, right? Wrong.
First of all, I had to work the night before at the Capital Grille until around 9 pm. Thats 9 hours of being on my feet when my body should have been building up the oh so useful glycogen stores. After work, I made the infamous carboload dinner consisting of pasta and marinara sauce. At this point, its 11 pm and I'm freaking out about my ability to wake up on time because when I am sleeping it is nearly impossible to wake me up unless you shake me violently or blow a fog horn in my ear. Alarm clocks are virtually useless.So, when I went to bed on Saturday night, it was with the knowledge that I would quite possibly sleep in, regardless of any effort I made or failsafes I put in place.
Despite the overwhelming sense of dread, I slept like a rock.
When I jumped out of bed at 6:30 a.m. instead of 4:30 a.m. and realized that the start of the marathon would be in exactly one hour, I went into panic mode, becoming less human and more primal Looking back, I see my movements were a little like a rat thats just been placed in a snake terrarium--chaotic, terrified, frantic.
Not that there was any danger of being eaten by reptiles if I didn't get to Dodger stadium on time, but me running from bathroom, to closet, to kitchen, to closet, back to bathroom repeatedly over a period of five minutes made me feel like I had lost all civilized rationality.
When I pulled up to Dodger stadium at 7:30, there was no traffic. Of course, because all traffic had ceased 90 minutes ago, when everyone had *finished* arriving. However, I was informed there was no parking. The corpulent man who told me this seemed to have a hard time hiding his impish glee when he suggested that I "park at the bottom of the hill." Park at the bottom of the hill I did, about a mile away from Dodger Stadium. Since the start of the race was supposed to be at 7:30, I was feeling something resembling hysteria. I imagined bringing up the very back of the marathon like that pathetic rhinocerous bringing up the back of the stampede in the movie Jumanji (see below).
As I was sprinting up the hill to the starting line, spectators turned around to point and laugh at the presumed late sleepers. How funny, they must have thought, to start off a twenty six mile race with a grueling sprint up a steep hill. Fortunately for my pride, I wasn't the only one who was running late. I somehow ended up running in a group with about four other stragglers as the national anthem blared over the loud speakers.
With an empty stomach and adrenaline coursing through my veins, I began the LA marathon. I'll admit, I was a little stoned, as it is my habit to partake of medical marijuana (sports medicine) before a run. That's probably why when I looked around and saw I was running next to guys who looked like this:
Maybe next marathon I won't pace myself for the first seven miles with the men's elite running. By mile seven, when I had sobered up enough to realize that I was a) running next to some super fast professional running motherfuckers and b) starting to get really exhausted-- I thought it would possibly be a good idea to slow down.
The rest of the race went swimmingly, literally and figuratively speaking. Amidst the bitter cold rain and wind, I finished in record time and then proceeded to freeze my balls off. At the end of the race, I couldn't find my ride home and ended up wearing three space blankets and shivering convulsively until I conned my friend Mark to pick me up from the Georgian Hotel. I can't stress enough how miserable I felt after the race. Barely able to walk, exhausted, dehydrated, shivering, and cold. When Mark finally pulled up to a side street in his little black Honda, I had literally never been so happy to another human being in my entire life. The first thing he said to me was
"Whats wrong with you? Why are you walking so funny?"
I didn't realize I was walking funny, but my best guess would be either that I couldn't feel my feet or that I just ran twenty six miles. I would like to publicly thank Mark on my blog, regardless of the way he made fun of me nonstop for the next day and a half, for saving my ass from the cold and rain. I owe you one.
The Great Wall of China Marathon is happening in exactly two months, and I'm pretty much scared to death. I don't know what the road to recovery from this ordeal will look like, or how soon I should start training again, but like the LA Marathon, I'm pretty sure it isn't going to go as smoothly as I anticipate.
That's okay, because adventure is the spice of life.
