- If you register early enough for a race that's small enough, you can get a SUPER-low number. (See above. Yes, that's #2... not a comically poorly spaced #22.)
- Hearing someone sing the National Anthem at the start line can still give me goosebumps.
- When you're running a marathon only as a training run, deciding to walk/jog the final 3 miles or so is really very liberating. (Several nice folks passed me, offering words of encouragement: "Come on! Almost there!"... "You can do it!" I thanked them, but smiled to myself as I shambled along: I don't care! Training run! Ha!)
- Powerade is a fine product... until you get some in your eye.
- Course marshals at every race should use giant, green foam fingers to show runners the way. They're amazingly effective. And a convenient way for a course marshal to tell others that he is "Number 1," if he wants to.
- It never ceases to amaze me, how stiff and bruised you can feel after a marathon. It's like you've been beaten all over with a bag of oranges. If a person -- not a race -- made you feel this way, you would press charges.
- Naps are good.
Running in the Rain
When I was in high school in Atlanta, we had a friend with a mild speech impediment, pwoblems with the awrs. We, in good fun - seriously, would crack up together and make tongue twisters. I remember one of them, "Twy saying this: Wunning Wapidly Down Woswell Woad in the Wain."
I wasn't even a wunner at that time.
In my early years of running, I love-hated the rain. If I heard it on my window, I turned off my alarm and went back to sleep. It was my excuse for a lazy day, and my lack of run combined with gray, sullen clouds, and a propensity for the munchies would inevitably lead to a bad case of the blahs. Over time, as I started running with other people instead of only solo, this became an issue as I would send an early morning message to my friends, "Raining. Back to bed. Catcha later." Later I would be surprised and mildly disappointed to learn that they had all gone running anyway, seemingly undisturbed by the weather. I can remember one gray, misty morning when we took off for a long run, only to be caught in a rain shower far from home. Nothing to do but run home, right? I laugh now, but that was a big deal to me. Perhaps that was one of many lines I drew between real runners and regular runners. (Silly wabbit, all runners are real.) My mentality was, "Why go out in that stuff if you don't have to?" Meanwhile, Paige loves running in the rain, absolutely loves it, and will in fact try to time it on purpose so she catches sprinkles. On our way home that day, her sunny nature shined through the storm, and penetrated the gloom of my mood. In spite of myself, I was having fun. It felt good, actually. That was the beginning.
Over time I have trained in the rain, on roads, dirt and the track. I have raced on trails and roads in the rain. I have headed to start lines armed with the full knowledge that rain was imminent. My whole attitude about it has shifted. Previously I felt a need to seek shelter and hunker down or hide. Now I hunker down if I feel like enjoying the rain by being cozy, or I go out and play if I feel like enjoying the rain by being active and feeling it on my skin. To date, I have never melted.
In fact, I can say that running in the rain is special. It has a redemptive quality to it, a washing clean of sorts, clearing my head and removing a layer of emotional or spiritual dust. If anything is bothering me when I begin a rain run, I actively imagine it washing off me before I return home. I love feeling the drops fall off the tip of my nose, my anemic, pruny looking fingertips, and my snarled, incorrigible mass of ponytail. I love pulling out of my squeaky shoes on entry rug, stripping off soaking socks, and padding to the shower in bare feet, peeling off soggy clothing and leaving it (splat!) in a dollop on the shower floor.
Best of all, if the rain decides to stay all day, I am peaceful and content to stay at home. My edge, my selfishness, my restlessness have all been quieted and lie panting on the floor, like a contented dog after a long walk. We have had a rainy week in Austin. After 62 consecutive days of 100 degree temperatures (for most of which, I was blessedly gone),water rationing and sprinkler schedules, brown grass, and lakes that resemble puddles with boat docks on cracked dry land - this rain is such a blessing.
It's supposed to rain, hard, all day tomorrow. We are already making plans.
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