At The Race

I went downtown to the Austin Marathon this morning as a spectator, not a participant. The marathon was to be run regardless of the fact that it was Valentine's Day as well as bitterly cold. Excuses aren't welcome at a marathon.

I seem to remember the announcer saying that over 15,000 people were there, ready to brave the 13.1 or 26.2 miles ahead. I was not one of them. Carinne was. And so, at 6:50 am, I said goodbye, gave her a hug and some advice that has taken me many races to appreciate, but has never failed me: start off slower than you think, make your goal to be able to smile at mile 11 and 12, know that your finish time is not as important as how you feel, and above all else, enjoy it. After the goodbye, I walked down Congress Avenue and found a good spot to cheer from, a place where all the runners wouldn't be bunched up at the start. It is an unusual feeling, being at a race but not racing. Being there to hold clothes, to lend watches, to wait and cheer. It is unusual, but refreshing. At 7:05 am the race started, (I can't think of any major race that actually starts on time) and the endless parade of runners poured down the street. Brogan and I cracked a beer to celebrate. That too, was refreshing.

We saw Carinne three times. Every time she was smiling, giving us short updates about how she was feeling, a few high-fives, and then moving on. The last time we saw her, right around mile 12, there was a little less bounce in her step, a little more resentment at Austin's hills, but still the smile.

In between the times we saw Carinne, Brogan and I stood by the side of the road, cans of beers in hand, cheering the way you only can after you've run a race like this before. I reminded a few people that doing this race was their idea, and that they'd even paid money for it. We stood, cheering people we'd never met. A few smiled as they ran by, staring at our cans of PBR, saying something like "I'd kill for one of those right now," or "You got an extra one for me?" For one lucky runner, we did. I popped open a can of Pabst's and handed it to him. He jogged away, sipping it, and I didn't see him for the rest of the day [maybe he was being sick in a porta-potty at mile 10]. I didn't catch his name.

But it wasn't my day, my race. It was Carinne's. My job was to support, to cheer, to get a smile if possible, and hopefully give a slight lift when the mile markers can't come fast enough. To help her forget, even if only for a moment, that her legs hurt and she's still got a way to go. I've felt the energy that comes from friends and family cheering, literally running beside you. It carried me across the line in Florida, kept me running at mile 22 in the dark. I know how important it is to have support there, because at the end of the day you need a reason to keep going when your body doesn't want to. My friends and family have always been that for me. If nothing else, I hope for a few minutes I made the decision to not break, to not relent, a little easier.

Standing on the side of the road, watching thousands of people pass by, you can't help but want to go home and sign up for every race possible in the 2010 calendar year. You promise to train fifty hours a week, to shatter personal bests and redefine your level of personal fitness. How can you not be moved to such extremes when you are watching wave after wave of people who are fit, alive, and on the edge [some call it the lunatic fringe]? When someone passes by pouring sweat into a shirt that says "Doing this for Dad", or is running beside their spouse, or finishes with a prosthetic leg, how can a fire not burn inside? In a world full of excuses and reasons to be average, for a few hours you stand and cheer for people who are anything but. You want to be out there again, to be with them, to be part of that fringe.

I remember telling one woman as she passed by me that "It's not even 10 am yet and you're going to finish a half marathon. Not a bad day." She smiled, moved on, as if drawn to the finish line by a magnet. I didn't catch her name.

In the most basic sense, the Austin Marathon was an inconvenience to thousands of Austin drivers. It shut down main roads and caused delays on countless others. For those who did run, it was a waste of time. The marathon started at 2nd and Congress and finished eight blocks north on 10th and Congress. Hours after starting, the runners were essentially right back where they began, only their legs hurt, their throat's were dry, and they had an unhealthy craving to sit down and eat. To not move. But as many have noted before me, it's the journey, not the destination that's remarkable. Seeing Carinne conquer her doubts and those 13.1 miles was exceptional. Just as the post-race lunch was, and so were the high-fives out on the course. Watching a slight grimace creep on to her face as she climbed some stairs, seeing a finisher's medal dangle around her neck; you know those are anything but pointless.

Not a bad day.