Its totally over. In case you haven’t heard, I won the whole thing.  Yeah, I ran it in like an hour and change. No big deal at all. I didn’t even sweat.  I probably didn’t even need to train all these weeks, but you know, I was just keeping everyone company. And, I lost 20 lbs in the process.
Lies. All of it. The searing pain coursing through my lower extremities is causing me to lose touch with reality. And I gained two pounds.
What really happened goes a little more like this:
Friday – leave after work. Get to Vancouver in 2.5 hours flat. Things are looking good. Apparently you are supposed to carbo-load two days prior, which to me meant An Excuse To Eat Everything Not Nailed Down. Dinner involved three gin and tonics (with one full glass water in between each one. Hey, they were WEAK.), carpaccio with truffle oil and parmesan, a Caesar salad, pasta with meat sauce, and an accidental half a tarte Tatin. Which is really just apples, so is healthy.
There was a group of trashy looking chicks that came into the restaurant. They could not have been more than 17. I saw the boobs come in the door like three full seconds before the remainder of the person, so you get the picture. One of them was like six feet tall, (five feet of legs) wearing what appeared to be a zebra-striped towel made of spandex. It was a constant tug of war – to pull the “dress” down exposed the top, to pull the “dress” up exposed the bottom. Call me old fashioned, but I just don’t like nipples/buttcheeks with dinner. It was like a train wreck – you couldn’t NOT look. A very attractive person, though, on the whole, until she spoke and sounded like Fred Sanford.
She was a HE. I’m still uncertain how it wore a dress so short. Tucking, I suppose. Fascinating. Canadian transvestites. Cansvestites? Transanadians?
Next day – crappy and humid. No trace of dehydration or hangover – I am a professional. I am, however, rocking a stringy, frizzy Afro triggered by humidity. After a giant Starbucks Americano, I set out to explore Vancouver with my tragic hair and get a little exercise. Exercise involving shopping for shoes and handbags which I cannot afford unless I win marathon and can claim large cash prize.
All this exercise is making me hungry. Stop for giant salad with salmon and prawns and forty pounds of lettuce. Really want hamburger instead. Pick miserably at salad, wash down with giant beer. Last drink until after race. I swish the beer around in my mouth like Listerine, to savor. Cannot lick inside of glass as do not have Gene Simmons tongue, but seriously considered trying, then remembered was in public place and had to set good example for America. Left lunch cranky and went to take nap. Passed out cold for two hours.
Dinner with the team at enormous Hall-O-Chinese-Food.
Nothing sounds good except beer. Waitstaff walking by with frosty Kirins and Tsingtaos. Hate evil, taunting, beer-wielding waitstaff. Everyone is so cute in their street clothes though. We’ve never seen each other not in athletic wear. It was like we were stunt doubles. Christi distributes bibs and shirts. The big joke is that they spelled my name wrong. Seriously. They spelled it H-A-T-H-E-R. So for fun I drew two dots over the “a” to make it Häther. Now it sounded exotic and Scandinavian, rather than like a dumb mistake. Hopefully it doesn’t mean “bitch” in Swedish. More likely it’s a style of couch from IKEA, or some sort of melamine organizational system. Needless to say, no one cheered for me in the run, because they couldn’t pronounce my name.
Off to bed. I was too nervous/excited to sleep so I set three alarms and took two Benadryl.
Alarms (all three of them) come screaming to life at 5:30 a.m. Stumble blindly around room and make cereal for breakfast. Spend twenty minutes wrapping feet. Take six Motrin. Get dressed. Meet team. Everyone is present and accounted for and ready to go. Have peed six times and still feel like I have to go. Also sort of feel like throwing up, either from nerves or mysterious Canadian all-natural energy beverage called “Assistance” I drank with breakfast. Maybe was crack? Tasted horrible, anyway.
We all get to the starting line. It is packed with all manner of people – gazelles, non-gazelles, old people, young people. No costumes. Phew. It seems like almost immediately the race begins. I set my watch and we’re off.
I cannot really describe the rest of the race. It was sunny, and all was well for a while. There were DJs and horrible garage bands scattered throughout the course. At least 10 people asked us where the Emerald City was. People think it’s in Kansas, or didn’t believe Seattle was the Emerald City. Like we made it up or something.Â
Top Three Things Overheard That Made Us Want To Hit People:
“Oh, I thought I passed you a long time ago.”
“You’ve got nine more miles to go, hon.”
“We really need to step it up a little. We have 5K more to go and we have to finish in the next 30 minutes.”
It was fairly uneventful. There was a man singing in the park wearing feathered wings. This was just prior to an enormous hill, which sucked. Lara begins distributing Advil like candy. Somewhere around 9 miles I started to get cranky.
At mile 10, Laurie said, “I think we’re going to finish…” and just sort of trailed off, to which IÂ responded, “Is that the end of your sentence?!” I wasn’t aware that not finishing was a possibility. I thought she was going to say “…in XX time” or “…at a 10-minute mile.” But no. She was just being positive. We started discussing America’s Next Top Model, to fill the time.
Between miles 11 and 12 felt like 5 miles as opposed to one. This was right around the same time we started to get passed by people running the full marathon. The guy who won the full marathon, by the by, did 26.2 miles in ten minutes less than it took me to run 13.1. WTF.
One more mile to go. A bystander yells at us, “It’s just pain!”. Everyone in immediate vicinity starts talking smack, telling the bystander to go eff himself and to get his fat ass out here and run. Clearly, no one is in the mood. The fun has stopped.
Anyway. I did it. We all did it. I saw the finish line and thought it was a mirage. My legs were on autopilot. All I remember is, just before I crossed, hearing a British accent yell, “Go on, Häther!”. No joke. He even said it right.
I crossed it. I finished. I didn’t throw up on the timing mats. I almost cried a little. Jonna was there at the finish line beaming like a proud mom, which was really cool. The rest of it was surreal.
They gave us ugly medals that looked like war medals, oddly sort of fitting. considering what we’d all been through. Personally, I thought I should be getting a freaking Purple Heart. There were Scientologists handing out water, which I drank before I realized who they were. It tasted funny. Perhaps was Tom Cruise’s sweat? Spent next ten minutes fretting about turning into Tom Cruise. We were funneled into big stadium crammed with people where we hobbled down stairs. Everyone was eating pudding. Like SHOVELING it in. It was madness. I wanted out. I could not move quickly, but I wanted out and away from the pudding.
Limped toward the hotel. Had overwhelming craving for cigarette. I haven’t smoked in three years. Smoking is gross, therefore did not have cigarette.
After taking what was perhaps the best shower of my life and guzzling 32 ounces of Canadian faux-Gatorade, I headed off for my massage. Kristin, Sarah and Holly were already there, blissed out and groaning on the tables. I eyed the masseuses carefully, hoping for the six-foot tall burly one with the giant hands. I needed help.
I got the giant one. She kept saying, “What aboot here? Does it hurt here?” It pretty much hurt everywhere, so she needn’t have asked. Christi is taking pictures of us, ostensibly to post online. I flip her off behind my back – not sure if that one will make it to the blog. The official marathon pictures online are hilarious. Every time we spotted someone with a massive camera, we’d yell, “Official Marathon Photographer!” and smile. Which made me look crazy in all my pictures, except the finish line one, where I thought I was smiling, but in the one they posted I look like I’m about to throw up. I also noticed that apparently I don’t bend my knees much when I run, because I look like I’m walking in every picture. Irritating.
For the remainder of Sunday and Monday, walking was difficult. By Tuesday I was fine. It wasn’t as bad as I had thought it would be. Yoga was a big help – only Laurie, Sarah and I made it there from the marathon class.
It’s kind of sad now that it’s over – sort of a “Now what?” kind of feeling. Part of me wants to sit on the couch and eat chips and watch reality shows. The other part of me is trying to find the next big thing to do. I’ve signed up for Beat the Bridge on May 18th – it should be a breeze in comparison. But I’m going to miss the whole team and the Saturday morning runs. I’m hoping Christi gives me another challenge of some sort to blog about, like the Human Fitness Guinea Pig. We’ll see.
 All I can say is, I thoroughly enjoyed this whole grueling experience. I have to thank Laurie, who I cursed daily 10 weeks ago, for roping me into this. And of course Christi and Jonna for guiding us all through it. It was an amazing experience and I am so glad I did it and met a whole bunch of great people in the process, whom I hope to keep in touch with now that the training is over. I’m really proud of all of us!
Cheers,
Häther
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