I did it. I completed a marathon. The Flora London Marathon, to be exact, last Sunday, April 13, 2008. My time, in the interest of full disclosure, was 7:16:21, which is a wicked, wicked long time to be walking around London. I made two bathroom stops, each of which took around 15 minutes (blast those toilet lines!), the knowledge of which does make me feel a little less slow. My dad and I were together for the first six miles or so, but he kept going when I made my first pit stop, because the longer he's on his feet,
the more his back starts hurting. Even so, the dude finished in 6:21:02, which, given that he mostly walked (with periodic spells of jogging), is pretty darn good for a guy five days before his 62nd birthday on his first marathon. On your right, a picture of Dad in action. Do I find it embarrassing that a guy twice my age beat me to the finish line by almost an hour? Maybe a little bit, but here's what I may not have told you: my dad's a hardcore exerciser. Not some big, bulging weightlifter guy, but a consistent, from-the-dawn-of-time fit fella. I mean, look at 'im: he walked a freakin' marathon in khakis and lived to tell about it. Okay, that part's unrelated, but I wanted to stick it in there to give him a little elbow in the ribs. But really, he's been active, as I described it to a friend, since before he was a glimmer in his mama's eye. I simply have not. Sure, some dance and gymnastics when I was wee, dashes of field hockey, lacrosse, and cheerleading, but on the whole, as you may recall my
mentioning, I haven't historically been a major mover-around. Here's what I am bummed about: as the race went on, there were parts of the course that were being dismantled as I walked through them. Signs were being taken down, water bottles swept up, and for the most part, it was clear that the rest of London had more or less moved on while I was...moving on. There were terrific supporters almost all along the way, and bless their smiles, applause, and kind words (and an extra big hooray for my mom and Nick, who--on the plus side of very few people's still being on the course with me at the end--walked the last 3+ miles with me), but the ma
rathon just isn't designed as much of a walking event. I'm not the slowest kid out there--heck, this lady on the left took over an hour longer than I did to finish--but during the last couple miles, when I was diverted to the sidewalk instead of the street because they had open the roads up to cars and basically closed the course, it made me feel pretty lousy. I'd come just as far as everyone else had! I am proud of myself, but it's hard to remember what a huge accomplishment this was for me and not to feel as though I'd let someone down when all the visuals indicated that the city had given up on me. Poo on you, Londontown and your endless waits for the loo. Nonetheless, I did it. Got my finisher's medal and everything. I'm not going to do it again tomorrow, but this adventure has opened up a realm of possibility that I had always thought of as everyone else's. Me go, girl.
I did it. I completed a marathon. The Flora London Marathon, to be exact, last Sunday, April 13, 2008. My time, in the interest of full disclosure, was 7:16:21, which is a wicked, wicked long time to be walking around London. I made two bathroom stops, each of which took around 15 minutes (blast those toilet lines!), the knowledge of which does make me feel a little less slow. My dad and I were together for the first six miles or so, but he kept going when I made my first pit stop, because the longer he's on his feet,
the more his back starts hurting. Even so, the dude finished in 6:21:02, which, given that he mostly walked (with periodic spells of jogging), is pretty darn good for a guy five days before his 62nd birthday on his first marathon. On your right, a picture of Dad in action. Do I find it embarrassing that a guy twice my age beat me to the finish line by almost an hour? Maybe a little bit, but here's what I may not have told you: my dad's a hardcore exerciser. Not some big, bulging weightlifter guy, but a consistent, from-the-dawn-of-time fit fella. I mean, look at 'im: he walked a freakin' marathon in khakis and lived to tell about it. Okay, that part's unrelated, but I wanted to stick it in there to give him a little elbow in the ribs. But really, he's been active, as I described it to a friend, since before he was a glimmer in his mama's eye. I simply have not. Sure, some dance and gymnastics when I was wee, dashes of field hockey, lacrosse, and cheerleading, but on the whole, as you may recall my mentioning, I haven't historically been a major mover-around. Here's what I am bummed about: as the race went on, there were parts of the course that were being dismantled as I walked through them. Signs were being taken down, water bottles swept up, and for the most part, it was clear that the rest of London had more or less moved on while I was...moving on. There were terrific supporters almost all along the way, and bless their smiles, applause, and kind words (and an extra big hooray for my mom and Nick, who--on the plus side of very few people's still being on the course with me at the end--walked the last 3+ miles with me), but the ma
rathon just isn't designed as much of a walking event. I'm not the slowest kid out there--heck, this lady on the left took over an hour longer than I did to finish--but during the last couple miles, when I was diverted to the sidewalk instead of the street because they had open the roads up to cars and basically closed the course, it made me feel pretty lousy. I'd come just as far as everyone else had! I am proud of myself, but it's hard to remember what a huge accomplishment this was for me and not to feel as though I'd let someone down when all the visuals indicated that the city had given up on me. Poo on you, Londontown and your endless waits for the loo. Nonetheless, I did it. Got my finisher's medal and everything. I'm not going to do it again tomorrow, but this adventure has opened up a realm of possibility that I had always thought of as everyone else's. Me go, girl.
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