Note: because this is a fairly lengthy story, I'm breaking it up into three parts. In this one: we lead up to the first mile of the marathon.
Saturday: Expo Day The day prior to the race, I had to pick up my champion chip and my bib. The bib is there to provide a quick runner ID and verify that I'm not a bandit racer jogging 26.2 miles because my Sunday happened to be free. The champion chip is a plastic doohickey that a runner laces into her shoes; at certain points in the race, runners pass over sensors that log the chip's unique ID. This keeps people from pulling a Rosie Ruiz and riding large portions of the race on the Metro.
The line to get into the expo was insanely long -- not because all of us brought entourages, but because we were all being screened before being permitted to enter the Crystal City Hyatt. I have fond feelings for this Hyatt -- nine years ago, I worked here nights as a lifeguard and the gig was very cushy -- so I didn't mind waiting.
Because I'm a big nerd, I had a laminated copy of the route map, so I shared it with the people in line around me. Everyone seemed really keyed up about the changes to the route. One of the women in front of me had missed the bridge the year before, and kept repeating her monologue: "I was breaking in a new pair of shoes, and my feet went out at the twenty mile mark. And then I began teaching kindergarten, and my hips are acting up, and I just don't know."
She was making me nervous, and when I'm edgy, the filter between what I want to say and what it's socially acceptable to say gets more porous. I did manage to refrain from pointing out that you never break in shoes on race day -- do that a few weeks ahead of time -- but when I cracked, "Is it just me, or are people trying to psych out other racers by wearing ultramarathoner shirts?" the woman went into near-meltdown. I whipped out my cellphone in self-defense and excused myself from the conversation.
Still, if you want to give yourself a pre-race panic attack, going to any expo event and looking at all the aerodynamically-engineered runners is a fine way to jump-start the proceedings.
Sunday: Race Day
Getting to the race: The alarm went off at 5:20 a.m. and I dragged myself into the bathroom, muttering darkly about what an idiot I was for doing this, then muttering darkly about what an idiot I was for psyching myself out. A quick shower, a liberal coating of petroleum jelly around the edges of my sports bra and the waistband of my capris, a relacing of my running shoes, and I was as ready as I'd ever be. I had packed my waistpack the night before: PowerBars, gum, sunscreen and petroleum jelly, cell phone, ID, insurance card, Metro pass and $20 in small bills.
Jenn and I met in the lobby and went down to the Metro station -- which was still closed. Nothing makes me feel so cosmically put out as being awake when the machines of public life are asleep. I scanned the headlines in all the vending machines (and refrained from pointing to my newspaper and shouting, "I work there!") and checked out the other runners who were also waiting for the Metro to open.
It was a mixed bag -- two lithe people who looked like they routinely did 26.2 miles before breakfast, two older folks who looked nervous and excited, one average-looking guy like me and Jenn. His girlfriend or wife was with him, dressed in jeans and a sweater, yawning hugely. That is real, unthinking devotion. Fortunately, I have a partner who gives me thinking devotion -- and the thinking was, "Why should he have to get up early and stand around for a few hours when he can still get some rest?"
The reason we were leaving so early: the race organizers recommended we get there 2 hours prior to the 8:30 a.m. start so that we could get through the security screening in all due haste. The actual security screening we went through at 6:45 a.m.? A Marine checking us out and nodding, "Okay, go ahead." We were screened by 6:47 a.m.
It was then I began to regret actually following the recommended procedures on the site. I could have stayed in bed an extra hour.
Jenn and I amused ourselves until the race started by counting the number of men who ran into the bushes to pee (I lost count in the twenties), then the number of women (five). We people-watched, as there were a lot of costumed runners. I sat in the road and did my yoga stretches. Occasionally, I'd notice the Washington Monument, framed through the autumnal leaves.
The start: Although we heard the Howitzer go off, and saw the plume of smoke, we didn't move for several minutes. It's not like the Marines have gotten to the point where they can order everyone to start off on the right foot as of now. We crossed the starting line 15:38 after the Howitzer went off. To my surprise, I choked up as we passed the Arlington National Cemetery. All those rows of tombstones, thickly placed on the hills, on this heartbreakingly clear golden morning. All those runners we saw, running in memorium of someone killed in Iraq.
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