Tuesday, October 12, 2004

The first half

Oh my god, I have never seen so fucking many people in my life. It was an awesome site. I slipped out Sunday morning while Jazz slept and met with the group at the Hilton on Columbia near the starting line. We were all dressed too warmly. They’d been warning us to wear throw away clothes that could be discarded when we got hot, but we had no idea that would occur while standing within the tightly packed throng of people in the middle of the street waiting to cross the starting line.

Once the race began it took me 5 agonizingly slow minutes just to cross over. And even then I couldn’t run yet. I was desperate for elbow room and got stepped on and pushed a number of times before I said fuck it and gave as good as I got. Jim, the guy from my local running group who is within my time range, had to take a leak at the first goddamn mile marker, fucking pussy. I didn’t want to lose him so I sacrificed 3 minutes while he took care of business in the one of a million port-o-johns. We were built with hoses for a reason, hang that son of a bitch out and let it fly. That's what some of the others did. That was fucking hillarious, too. Women can't do that shit. The men were lined along the wall within an underpass area during the race, a steamy river of ammonia flowing downhill. But I digress...Jim used the big boy potty and we got back to it.

The race never thinned out. Never. We were packed like sardines the whole damn time, though the pace picked up by the time we got to mile 3 which I think was State St. It was 53 degrees, I remember seeing it on a clock as I ran by at the corner of State and Wacker. Just a few dozen yards ahead of me I could see a man juggling as he ran, fucking show off. Who can’t juggle and run a marathon simultaneously? I also had a back and forth going on with runner 9999.

By mile 10 I was feeling like a champ and passing nimrods left and right. Jim’s ass was starting to lag behind and I warned him I’d leave him if he didn’t keep up. He said he had to piss again and I could have smacked him for overloading on liquids. “Run it down your leg. I ain’t stopping again.”

Just past mile 12 was my favorite. The crowd was huge. I know Jazz was there but as I went through elbow to elbow with a thousand other people I couldn’t find her and she admitted she never found me either. Damn, what street was that? Actually, all of the street names become a blur from this point on, but I can tell you what runner 9999 was wearing, the little UK punk, trying to show me up on my own turf. He had “Go Chris!” on his shirt.

I looked at Jim and nodded toward the kid and he nodded back. We separated and let the pavement swallow him behind us before we came back together. We both smiled. It doesn’t take much to entertain us. Unfortunately, our games were short lived as everything changed at mile 15.