A Blast from the Past - I Saw Elvis - 27/4/2002

Nessie not being my first encounter with the marathon has prompted some comparison of the two experiences. Naturally, my thoughts returned to this race report:

I Saw Elvis
^{My Tale of the Country Music Marathon}

I survived. Considering I probably could have crawled that last mile faster than I ran it, I was thrilled.

I started in the fourth herd along with the four Dolly Parton impersonators. The thought of running 26.2 miles was daunting. The thought of running it with that much extra hair and gold lamé was unbelievable. To Dolly's credit, they didn't quite carry Dolly-sized boobs.

The sirens sent us off, eleven thousand runner-lemmings marching to our doom. When I hit the first downhill, the leaders had already disappeared.

Somewhere around mile 4, one of the talk radio stations was blasting some boring guy yammering about the corruption of our children. I wondered if it was strategy to slow us down.

I saw my friends at the curve by Belmont. I went over to visit them, partly because I knew they'd never see me otherwise and partly to drop off my extra layers. I was with the four-hour pacers as we continued up Belmont. The guy leading that group said, "If you guys can handle this climb here, you can handle Heartbreak Hill at Boston." The guy next to me said, "What he's not telling you is that Heartbreak Hill is at mile 20." I saw David my training buddy for the first time just before the 10K point.

At mile 7, I saw Elvis. He was running the other way. Maybe it was a sign?

Somewhere around mile 9, we had our religious experience. A bus parked along the course proclaimed, "Repent and Jesus will save you!"

At mile 11, the Halfsies split from us and the herd thinned significantly. I met up with David again as we headed to the wasteland of MetroCenter. Many of us thought they should put all of the lousy bands there to get us through it faster.

I hit The Wall around mile 15, five miles earlier than I expected. Not far behind me, some poor guy started puking his guts up. He attempted to run through it because for a little while, the noise didn't get any softer. I didn't turn around to check. The guy next to me said, "Wow, no matter how bad I think I feel right now, it's not nearly as bad as him." I stopped taking my Goo at Mile 15. Bad idea, yes, absolutely. Trust me, it would have been worse if I had taken another one. I started drinking the awful sport drink they had on the course, but it wasn’t the same.

Then I hit That Other Wall. After mile 20, I couldn't tell you what color the sky was. We passed within a quarter mile of the finish line with still an hour to go. Groan. Thankfully, as we headed into East Nashville, we saw people again, people drinking beer and eating BBQ as we ran by. One guy offered us donuts. Others helpfully told us it was all downhill from there. They were lying. It wasn't.

At mile 24, this poor woman stopped and turned around in a few circles and said, "How do I get back to the half marathon?" The courses had separated for our MetroCenter tour and then rejoined briefly just before the turnoff to their finish. She didn't do the MetroCenter part, but just sort of missed the turn to the stadium, crossed over the bright orange cones to our side and then ran/walked four extra miles with us. I said to her, "I guess the best way now is to follow us." I know it wasn’t funny for her, but we were amused. It WAS sort of a big turn to miss.

The last mile was a death march. My brain fought my legs for every step. Twenty-six miles, one last turn, and the end was in sight. I heard my friends yelling my name. One last push and my marathon ended.

I stumbled through the herd of sweaty runners and the aisles of free food to find my friends. At the exit, the photographers waited for the survivors. Wrapped in a space blanket, clutching a bottle of water and sucking on an orange slice, I looked up at the lady, said no. Mercifully, she let me through. Not exactly a moment of glory for posterity. Besides, I knew my friends were good for plenty more blackmail pictures later.

So, I survived. Would I do it again? I don't know. Ask me in a few months, when my memory is hazier. If you ask me today, the answer's no.