And yet the Star-Spangled Banner is sung, the port-o-potties are dutifully filled to overflowing with,...I digress. Gatorade is guzzled, sipped, slurped, puked, spilled, poured and inhaled like power gels and energy bars we all think will miraculously catapult us all to the finish line in record time, or at the very least keep us from keeling over.
Through a maze of blowing paper bags and 5th grade heavy metal boy bands playing "Werewolves Of London" so disgustingly that they had the inadvertent side effect of speeding up everyone's time who came within earshot, we ran. Through 70-year old Circle City Cloggers stamping their way to the shrill sound of Alvin and the Chipmunks, regaling us with their version of "Single Ladies", we trudged. Through puddles and potholes and pain, (OH MY!), we soldiered on. Around the Indianapolis 500 track we ran,....and ran and ran and ran and where the hell do we exit, huh?
When the wind hit our backs instead of our front, we knew we were gonna be alright, and we sensed a great finish over the last 4 miles. The great part didn't really pan out, but we sure did finish. Out of almost 35,000 that started, almost 31,000 finished (the rest are obviously strewn about the streets of Indianapolis, waiting for the street cleaning crew to sweep them up come Monday). I ran a 1:59.32 and finished in 6,933rd place. Beaten by a town, but victorious over a small city!
And now I hurt in places that don't like hurting. Sore muscles, blistered feet, a 2-day headache, and a day-long argument with my left calf concerning whether its decided to go into full spasm or just keep the low "maybe" tension going for a few more days. Problem is, I've been dumb enough to do it 20 times. Next year, count me in for number 21.
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