Memories of My First Marathon

This October will be the twentieth anniversary of my first marathon. That's reason enough for me to attempt another one. I am not old!

Here are a few memories of my first marathon. The place: Milwaukee. The Year: 1988.

• It's easy to tell who the runners are when you pick up your race packet. There were tons of skinny people picking up their race packets. In fact, I don't think you'll ever see so many skinny people gathered in one place than at a marathon. Accompanying those skinny people are a bunch of not-so-skinny (is it okay to say "fat"?) people. They look very uncomfortable. As I watched them I decided that their discomfort did not come from being around so many physically fit people. They looked more like they thought they were accompanying their beloved lunatic to the insane asylum.
  
• The bus ride. I'll never forget getting on the school bus at the finish area for the bus ride to the starting point. There was tons of nervous chatter as runners visited with each other. As we left downtown, drove through the suburbs and the ex-burbs past farms and finally to a country elementary school, the bus grew quiet. I know that every runner was thinking the same thing. It was really long bus ride. And we were going to run back. Maybe the fat people were right.
  
• The Starting Line. The starting lines of road races have some common themes. Friends gathering in small groups to talk. Runners stretching against buildings. The constant checking of the watch. The fastest runners toeing the starting line. The slower runners gathering near the back. At 5k and 10k races you see runners sprinting up and down the street getting the kinks out and getting ready to race. You don't see as much of that at a marathon. The runners are conserving their energy. The first three miles are where you get the kinks out. Really.
• The Cheers. Other than an occasional "hi" or "looking good" from a passing runner, no one ever cheers your training runs. That's different in a marathon. The Milwaukee marathon was a "small" marathon, but still the starting line and every water stop was filled with people. As we ran into town people sat on lawn chairs cheering this strange parade. I had read that you only needed to run 20 miles to train for a marathon and that the crowd was worth the last six. They were right.
• The Marathon Should Be Time, Not Distance. Around mile 14 someone at an aid station hollered out who the winner of the marathon was. I don't remember who it was. I remember thinking, "Wimp! Anyone can run for a little over two hours. I'd like to see him try running for four hours!"
  
• Putting One Foot in Front of the Other. Your body hurts. Not just your legs, but everything. Your arms hurt, your fingers hurt. Your hair hurts. Everything hurts. The endorphins are long gone, leaving you feeling like the anesthesia didn't last through the whole operation. You wonder if you are going to make it. In the meantime, there are fat people sitting in the shade in lawn chairs. Drinking lemonade and laughing. They are having fun. You hurt. You have eight miles to go. At this point, the marathon is purely a mental game. Make it to the next tree, the next mile, the next water station. You can quit...just not right now. You make a promise: I will never, ever do this again.
  
• The Lake. One of the unique features of the Milwaukee Marathon was that you could see the finish line for what seemed like miles before you actually got there. It reminded me of driving to Denver and catching the first glimpse of the Rockies. Really cool, but they are still a long way off. In fact, after the excitement of spotting the finish line it seems like you will never get there.
• The Finish Line. I wanted to sprint to the finish line, but my legs couldn't respond. I crossed the line with arms stretched to heaven. Someone tore the tag off the bottom of my race number. A medical person gave me a five second look-over. A woman placed a finishers medal around my neck as I started to cry. I have never known such a feeling of accomplishment as at the end of a marathon.
  
• The Next Day. My legs were stiff and sore. Going down stairs was almost impossible. I wondered if my marathon t-shirt was appropriate business attire.
  
• The Third Day. It's amazing how much things change in three days. By the third day I went out for a short jog. As I was running I thought, "Maybe I'll do another one in the spring."

The fat people are right.