Sarah Et Cetera

More than anything, running has taught me that I can. I never doubted I could run the Mercedes Half-Marathon. I had a great coach and a great training program and even the first time I ran 13 miles I was confident I could do it. But actually running the course yesterday was different than it was two weeks ago.

There were so many more people, and the excitement was palpable. When the gun when off and the speakers immediately started to blare “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen, that was a helluva thing. My right knee hurt for no apparent reason from about 100 yards in, but not enough that I dwelt on it, or had a bad run because of it, though it did get worse as the run went on.

There were so many interesting people. There was the Neal Stephenson lookin’ guy in the pink tutu who ran at the head of the pack and I’m told pirouetted across the finish line. There was a guy dressed entirely in bright blue UnderArmor compression gear that everyone referred to as “The Smurf.” There was a guy that came up behind me about mile five or so, as I was taking off my long-sleeved outer layer and asked, “Is this the Team Danny strip tease?” I just laughed at him. He then proceeded to cup his hands around his mouth and bellow “Darlene!!!” (or maybe “Charlene!!!”). And then he sped up and did it again five minutes later. I wonder if he ever caught her.

I love running with spectators and supporters. They always do such great things. I really enjoyed the drum line stationed outside the Civil Rights Institute. I loved coming up on the Alabama Theatre where they were blasting oldies out of loudspeakers (”Sixteen Candles” as I passed). By the UAB School of Business, the Bell Center had a woman on megaphone screaming “Come on Marathoners!” Several miles later, the stop on Highland near Niazuma was all decked out in Mardi Gras colors with balloons and beads and hats. Two miles after that, the Royal Mile was playing crazy trombone music, also for Mardi Gras. Then a few blocks later, outside V Richards in Forrest Park, loudspeakers were blaring, “We Will Rock You.” I don’t generally do well running to music. I spent so long marching that my left foot has to hit on the one at least every other measure and I find that my pace gets all screwed up. But listening to Queen was amazing and that beat was a great pace for me, there, coming up on the 10 mile mark.

Turning into the home stretch, I got to cheer as the marathon winner passed me, preceded by a police car, the cherry-red Mercedes convertible mascot car, and a news van and followed by about six policemen on motorcycles. Then I got surprised when, running through Pepper Place, the supporters started offering Krispy Kremes. The final water stop, right before the turn onto 20th Street, didn’t have nearly as much water as it did beer. It was beer, Krispy Kremes and Oreos and I had to laugh and laugh.

People were starting to call out the distance left to the finish in terms of yards, not miles, and I started to realize it was nearly over. Passing under the railroad bridge at Morris and Powell there were two women playing “Chariots of Fire” on accordions. It took me a minute, even, to recognize what it was. And then I thought I was going to sob. I didn’t then, and I’m still not sure what came over me, but I wanted so much to cry, to really let it out and bawl.

That that was the best part of the race, running up 20th, getting it together, resolved to finish the race smiling. And thinking about Chariots of Fire, thinking about running to prove something. Without getting too maudlin, I saw a t-shirt at the race expo this weekend that said, “The miracle isn’t that I finished. It’s that I had the courage to start.” That’s what I felt there, in that tunnel, a little bit of darkness before more brilliant sunshine and the last few blocks to the biggest achievement of my life. Finishing, that’s not that spectacular. The miracle of it all is that, less than two years ago, this all would have been impossible. No number on the scale, no size in the dressing room, no compliment from a friend has made me want to weep. But Chariots of Fire, in that tunnel, and up the road to the finish did. I made myself a miracle.

And when I crossed the line, gun time was at 2:35:52—twenty minutes faster than I anticipated and ten minutes faster than I dreamed was possible. I’ve mentioned to a few people that I’ll keep running and start training for a full marathon when I can run a half in two and a half hours. I’m pretty sure I’m going to run the Country Music Half-Marathon in April.

I wonder if I can take five minutes off my time in nine weeks. Absolutely. I can.