2405th Place

Weather: Summer’s gone. Somebody hand me my jacket.

CD: Rufus Wainwright, the meth-head himself

Three hours, eighteen minutes, fifty-six seconds. Fortytwo point one-ninty-five kilometers. Twentysix miles. One marathon completed.

Marathons are hard. I officially realized this around kilometer thirtytwo of the race. That was about the time my quads started to go out. And my knees. I still had a good five kilometers to go before my toenail started to fall off (it’s still hanging on by the proverbial thread). This is what some people label as “fun”.

The first quarter of the race flew by. The crowds, ohhh the crowds— a million people were on hand to cheer us on; of those spectators I’d venture to say half the country of Denmark was involved. I was pounding to the marching bands, blowing kisses to the cheerleaders and slapping five with the kids holding their hands out. The half-way point edged up on me. “We’re only half way…” Muscles started to give in. The mind began to wander from it’s task. It was an unseasonably warm Sunday afternoon with temperatures rising into the upper-mid twenties. I geared my line along the street’s edges where slivers of shade offered some respite. Water station after water station, htwoo on my head, anywhere I could throw it. At no point did I stop while drinking, knowing full and well my muscles wouldn’t know how to turn on again. I ate the water. The last kilometers never seemed to end. All my brain could process was “left-right-left-right”. My pace had dropped off but there was little reaction from the body. Splits were:

5K - 23.51

10K - 23.00 (46.51)

15K - 22.01 (1:08.52)

20K - 21.41 (1:30.32)

25K - 23.04 (1:53.36)

30K - 23.59 (2:17.35)

35K - 25.19 (2:42.54)

40K - 25.44 (3:08.38)

I almost missed the start. I underestimated the size of the warm-up fields, which encompassed all of the governmental quarter of Berlin. I’ve never even been close to missing a start in my life. And here I was, on the cusp of my first marathon, briskly walking to the starting field, only to find it so crowded that I’d have to wait for the starting gun to go off before I could jump a gate and blend into the masses of a 40,000 person field. I cramped slightly toward sthe beginning, which was another oddity. And these dang shoes I got talked into buying did nothing but cause my feet pain.

Serious props to Jeff Sabrina and Nicole for coming out and supporting me, travelling around the city and meeting me at four different points, decked out in Texas banners and flags. I was sporting a white T-shirt that simply had “Texas” written on the front and “Come and Take It” on the back.

I couldn’t walk properly for three days following the event. Stairs were a particular hazard. As was the hokey pokey. Children have no concept of marathons and the physical pain they can incur.

And would I do it again? I almost feel like I have to. I can run a better time than that and I have to prove it to myself. New York is next October. Maybe I should sign up now as an added touch.

Official photos are located here. As always, a hook em sign in all of them. There’s even a small video where you can watch me getting beat by some lady and 2 old men. They obviously cheatedand hitched a ride with the subway somewhere along the course.