Thoughts from the Bayshore

Here’s what I learned:

I will not run a race again without an ipod or something.  With no music or books, it was very lonely.  Additionally, I had no idea how far I had gone or what my pace was.  There were markers every mile, but no clocks at all.

I felt a poem coming on in the beginning!  But of course there was no way to write it.  I loved the pad pad pad of tennis shoes on the pavement.  I liked the rainbow of colors in all the running gear.  It felt like a river of people flowing through the streets.

I enjoyed watching the half marathoners and marathoners approach the finish line.  For about 5 seconds, I had the fleeting thought, for the very first time, that I might like to do that.  The thought was quickly banished to the absurd, but it was the first time the thought ever even appeared, and perhaps that is significant.

As I watched the runners come in, I noticed several things.  First of all, not all sports bras are equal.  Do these women know what they look like?  Is that comfortable? What do I look like?

Second, I like to imagine the stories that might go with people.  One marathoner looks disoriented and is staggering.  He is flanked by two men, one with a half-marathon bib (did he already finish?) and another whose bib I could not see.  He is walking as he approaches the finish line, and eventually, he moves ahead of his attendants and completes the race.  I hope they took him straight to the medical tent!

Another girl we saw appeared to have an injured knee.  She stopped very near the finish, obviously in pain.  The crowd watched as she stood there.  Finally, a woman walked out to her, offered her an arm and she started walking again.  They walked together until the runner was sure she could continue, and she limped to the finish.

We saw one guy go back 2 or 3 times.  He had a half-marathon bib, and he appeared to have finished and was watching from the sidelines.  Back he dashed, going against the traffic, and in a little while, we saw him return, at the side of someone else.  We saw this happen two or three times.

As we watched near the finish, we saw runners joined by children or grandchildren who gleefully ran the last 100 yards with their racer.  One woman was joined by a little girl not more than 3, wearing a race t shirt down to her ankles and clutching her blanket.

Runners crossing the finish line don’t all look the same.  I promise, there were a few marathoners who sailed across the finish line fairly early, and they looked happy.  They looked like it wasn’t even a great deal of effort.  Others crossed expending every ounce of strength with that Eric Liddell grimace.