Sunday, October 7, 2012

Wait...How Long?

Barney Stinson: “Here’s how you run a marathon. Step one, you start running…There is no step two.” And that kids was the best advice that I got in preparation for this madness. For humoring future generations, I would like to give you a mile-by-mile recap of what I was thinking about the entire race. And…cue the starting gun.

Mile 1: Alright, here we go. The next five plus hours of my life may turn out to be something I’ll regret long term, but so what? Chicks dig marathoners right? Hey, here’s a nice old chap that looks around 70 or so, I’ll just keep pace with him. If a retired geezer can do this, so can I. I just have to keep my pace and… HEY! GEEZER! SLOW DOWN! YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST!

Mile 2: How the curse word am I sweating right now? It’s 43 degrees and I’m wearing less clothes than you’ll see at a nude beach. I’m freezing, yet I’m dripping wet already. Curse my illegitimate genetics for making me sweat in the most unexpected situations. And please don’t tell me that my knee is starting to hurt…

Mile 3: Did that lady just take off her sweater and throw it into the bushes? Wait! Again! Right there, that long-haired hippie just took his pants off and tossed them in the dirt? Hey! Dude! Your pants! This makes no sense! Am I the only person that decided to shed my outer layers before the opening gun, or do marathons make you think that this entire road is the Deseret Industries outlets?

Mile 4: Hey! This isn't that bad. I'm feeling great. At this pace, I'll probably be able to be back in time for the second half of the Penn State-Northwestern game. People say marathons are so draining. HA! I’m doing fine. Look, I only have 22 miles to go. That’s a walk in the park. Isn’t it?

Mile 5: Why are random people running off into the bushes? Do they not see the gigantic closed off road right in front of us that was shut down for this whole event? Did they not look at the map once? Why is that woman squatting down? What is he... Oh, never mind.

Mile 6: Doing good. Feeling great. I’m actually liking this whole thing, keeping a good pace. Just enjoying…HEY! Is that a ten year old that just passed me?! What the curse word?! How am I getting out run by a kid who still thinks that girls have cooties?! HEY KID! SLOW DOWN! Alright, now my self-esteem has taken a hit.

Mile 7: So...this hill is much larger than I expected. I heard that annoying lady on the bus talk about how intimidating the Veyo Hill is, but I thought she was overreacting. Yeah, I’ll just walk. There’s no shame in walking is there?

Mile 8: I will say that I think I have the most awesome playlist ever designed that’s blaring into my ears. I don’t know how some people are running without music keeping them motivated. If it wasn’t for Linkin Park, Chevelle, Muse, and even a little Bieber, I don’t think that I would be able to stay pumped up for this entire thing.

Mile 9: Oh aid station, where have you been all my life? Give me your Gatorade, your oranges, your bananas. Rub my legs with icy hot. And why yes, I would love a stick of Vaseline to combat the chafage in my armpits. If it weren’t for you, I would be on the side of the road staring deliriously at the sky.

Mile 10: Sometimes I wish I had the physical strength and stability in my knees equivalent to that of someone my age, and not the same as a geriatric camel with osteoporosis. This joint on my lower left appendage may be the death of me. I wonder if there are any rural drug dealers out in the bushes that wouldn’t mind shooting me up with something to numb it out.

Mile 11: No pain. No pain. No pain. For some reason that angry bald black trainer on Rocky III is the one who’s keeping me moving. They say that this is all a mental game. That could be a problem for me seeing as how I’m missing a part of that brain stuff. Just gotta keep saying those words. No pain. No pain. No pain. That lady just gave me a funny look. Well, I guess I am just out here talking to myself.

Mile 12: How come that guy has those red blood spots on the corners of his shirt? That’s kind of weird. Did he get bitten by… wait a minute, those are in the same vicinity as his nipples are; which by the way why do men have nipples anyway, totally irrelevant if you ask me. No protection huh? What a novice. Where’s Quin Monson? I need to thank that guy and give him a huge hug for the nipple guards he gave me. Nipple guards, that sounds funny…

Mile 13: Halfway there and I'm just over two hours, I'm feeling great about this whole race thingy. Wait a second, now that I think about it, there are probably some seasoned vets crossing the finish line right now, at this exact moment. And I still have half the race left. Okay, maybe this marathon business is a lot tougher than I ever imagined.

Mile 14: For this entire morning, all I’ve been doing is staring at people’s butts. That’s the only thing in front of me. For the past two and a half hours multi-colored posteriors have been my source of entertainment. There’s the Texas flag butt, the Captain America butt, the “these-running-shorts-are-too-small-for-me” butt. Hey, she’s got a nice butt, maybe I’ll try and follow her for a while.

Mile 15: I think an eco-friendly park ranger would want to shoot us all for the amount of littering we do at every aid station. I feel sort of lazy just throwing my cups on the ground. But hey, everyone else is doing that too. When in Rome, I guess.

Mile 16: Alright, you're in uncharted territory here son. Think about this, you have never before in your entire life gone further than the steps you are taking right now. Are you sure you can do this? Do you want to do this? Were you under some kind of hallucinogenic influence way back when the Rhinestone Cowboy talked you into this?

Mile 17: I don’t know how these people are just sitting on the side of the road cheering us on. Now that’s dedication, I’ll tell you what. Heck, they only know probably a handful of the 7,000 people running. And yet they’re out here yelling, and cheering, and clapping, keeping us going. Hey farmer’s boy, more cowbell!

Mile 18: I think that the last ounce of toughness that I thought I had just went down the drain as that Great-Grandpa just passed me up. Yeah, this may be his 148th marathon, but still. He’s closer to kicking the bucket than I am to the finish line. Maybe this is that wall thing that runners always talk about.

Mile 19: I wonder if it’s a moral transgression to think the F-word to yourself. I mean, I’m not really saying it to anyone else, just screaming it over and over and over in my head every time my left leg takes a step. I’m close to dropping 300 mental F-bombs by now. Is my knee going to be offended at the amount of cursing I have thought to it? Okay, now I know I’ve lost it. When I’m having a moral argument with my knee and asking my patella for forgiveness…

Mile 20: Seriously, you’re in the twenties now, almost there. At this point, it’s starting to feel like a reality. You will complete a marathon. Only about an hour or so more to go… wait, an hour? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! Where’s the aid station?

Mile 21: What’s the meaning of life? If a deaf person swears, does his mother wash his hands? If one synchronized swimmer drowns, what happens to the rest of them? Shouldn’t hemmorrhoids be called asteroids instead? Why have I had that group of vultures circling over my head for the last mile or so? Why am I thinking random thoughts in the desert…?

Mile 22: I’m done. This is it. This is that wall thing. No, I’m not moving anymore. Go on without me. I miss Dad. I miss Grandpa. I miss a lot of things. Why do I have this sudden urge to just start crying right now? And not just crying, bawling. Is this how all marathons are supposed to end? I don’t care anymore. I really don’t. I can’t move anymore. Literally, I can’t. My legs are cramped, my knee has thrown in the towel, I’m done. I can’t see anything motivating enough to drag me to the finish line. Maybe I’ll just start walking west until they pick me up in a few hours stranded in Snow Canyon.

Mile 23: Wait, is that civilization? Is that St. George? Are those actual buildings, and vehicles, and people? Is this close to the end? Am I almost there? I started blacking out back there, how did I stay on this road? Okay, if I can walk the last three miles. I just might make it.

Mile 24: There’s Maddie Morrell and the other ambassadors at the aid station. Yes, please rub me down with icy hot. I have no shame at this point. And yes, I will eat the three bananas, down 11 cups of Gatorade, and splash water all over me. I don’t care at this point. Is that a popsicle? Yes! GIMME! This tastes like crap! Never mind, it’s Vaseline.

Mile 25: ...

Mile 26: What? Where am I? Did I just black out? Oh hey, the diagonal! Hey, a marching band! Hey, people cheering! Hey, I can do this! I just have to finish strong. No pain. No pain. No pain. F-word you knee! Yes, Bieber on my playlist. Hey, we’re turning left. I see a bunch of balloons. Hey, there’s Jess, and Bryan, and Trish, and C.J. Everyone’s clapping! Am I crying? I don’t care, I see that ticking clock. If I pick up my pace just a bit I can make it under five hours! Almost there! I don’t feel the pain anymore. Are these those endorphin thingys kicking in? Almost there! And yes, I am crying. U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A! That’s it! It’s over. I can collapse now! Where’s the nearest massage table?

Honestly, this was probably the most idiotic decision that I have made in a long time. Turns out Barney Stinson was right from the get go. Just start running, and don’t stop. As the 5-Dollar Crocker so accurately put it yesterday, "It's like pregnancy. You say you will never give birth again then you forget the pain and have another one."

It wasn’t just me who finished the race, it was everyone. And it was amazing. So what if I have been laying in the same position in my bed for the last 19 hours, it’s finally over. And boy am I glad for those nipple guards.

What do you think?

1 comment:

  1. HahahA! Wow Brock! Great job! I would never run a marathon. Sounds like you had a lot of fun though ;) and I laughed aloud at the deaf kid swearing part.