As a kid I bought into all of the motivational posters that were plastered in my classrooms -- The Cliffhanger over "PERSEVERANCE" or Garfield saying some backhanded encouraging rhetoric. Last year I dreamt a little & decided I wanted to look like a Men’s Health model. You know the guys that look digitally sculpted, airbrushed, waxed, frosted, ridged, shredded, Herculean? That was my dream. I figured I really didn't have the discipline, genes, fortitude, lack of taste buds to make this dream a reality but I did know if I pushed myself in some physically demanding event for a brief moment I would feel like I should be dawning the cover. Those were my options – completely alter my lifestyle, deprive myself of everything fun in the world or train a few months by waking early on Saturdays and prepare to run a marathon. Just has Garfield would’ve done, I chose the lesser of the two exercise evils – 26.2 miles.
After four months of training, race-day finally arrived. The sun wasn't up yet but I was. I sat on the end of my bed with my feet pinching the carpet, my dog nestled up to me, and I hoped what every runner hopes for on race day; to drop a complete deuce before I leave. This was the only worry I had for the entire day really; my day was going to be won or lost on my bowel movement before the race began (and any surprising ones during it). No action early, so I went with my typical approach; I started drinking caffeine (Sugar Free Red Bull) and took Cash (my dog) for a walk. A few steps out the door and quickly noticed unexpectedly nice weather; I would even say perfect weather if I were hosting a summer time grill-out. Too bad I would be running the distance between Marina del Rey & Long Beach.
I made it to the start line, the elite runners were right there in front sharing ideas on how to look skinner. I still needed to get my constitution settled, so I found my way to the port-a-potty. Finally I was ready. I planned to run with the 5 hour pace group mainly because if I was responsible to pace myself I would run at the same clip as if chased by a dog. I scanned the short-shorts crowd and didn't see the balloons that signify the groups; I saw the 20,000 runners all sectioned off by letter in the incredibly windy chute. A, B, C, and so on, but I didn't see the balloons I was promised. Finally two things hit me – first it was so windy the balloons had been useless and set free so the pace groups were dispersed plus the runners were segregated by these Letters. It was like prize cattle at the fair; seriously you walked down the chute and you saw there were literally classifications of runners everywhere. Of course I am in the trail-group; somehow the confidence I was given after my epic bowel movement had been stripped away and left with the letter E. The national anthem blared on and I was ready.
Mile 1 – My run-mix was cued on my iPod and I started off with Simple Man (Skynyrd); I passed the actual start line about 10 minutes after the initial gun. At approximately the .2-mile portion a sharp spike of pain shot out of my knee. I skipped up and thought quickly that my marathon ended 26 miles short; not Men’s Health status. I pulled off to the side to get a quick stretch in and figured it was just my body making sure I wanted to do this.
Mile 2 – I came up to the initial aide-station and it was like college when I hot coed became single; a chaotic herd fighting each other to get there first. I made my way through with a Dixie-cup of Powerade, avoided being trampled and shortly after the station I settled back into my stride when I received a light tap on my shoulder. I peaked back and saw my friend Jen & her Dad who were running the Half. How she found me in the quagmire of climate control running tops (black was the color of choice) I’ll never figure, but she did, and we chatted for a part of the mile. I wished them well as they zipped by me, humiliating leaving me behind. I had to remind myself she was only running 13 miles; 13 miles Marsh, that’s why she was able to run by you like a parked car.
Mile 3 – We entered into the "Beverly Hills of Dallas," Highland Park. I felt great, the wind was squarely at my back and for no reason other than I had the chance to, I decided to pullover and water the flowers of a million dollar crib. I didn’t even have to go.
Mile 4 thru 6 – I was in the zone & loved my run-mix: Jesus Walks (Kayne), Fright Night (Girl Talk), Get By (Talib Kweli) and Rich Girl (Hall & Oates).
Mile 7 - I saw my first group of supporters and instantly realized I was starving. It was a joy to see the Tacketts & Bernards all there cheering me on. No doubt this was one of my quicker miles. Asked if I needed anything I asked Larkin to have something for me to eat at mile 13, our meet-up point & I scooted by. Heart of the City (JayZ).
Suddenly a hundred yards or so after my fan section, I saw someone sprinting along side the course and darting directly towards me. I thought this was my Monica Seles moment & someone has been sent there to attack me (must have been those bastards at Shape magazine). Luckily it was only Scott who heroically handed me a bagel; only if he had a cup of OJ to go along with it. I was so excited I jammed the bagel into my grill and just after it absorbed the little moisture I had remaining in my mouth, I realized I should have waited until the next aide-station for some fluids. Hey, it was my first marathon and you learn as you go – don’t take food from strangers without taking water too; check.
Mile 8 thru 11 – I was flying. I had already grown four inches, my hair thickened, and my jaw line was squaring out with every step. I was becoming a Men’s Health model. I kept passing mile markers, checked the times with my pace wristband, and thought I may just cross the finish line looking like Hugh Jackman. I don't even know if I was sweating at this point. Looking back, the 15 mile-an-hour wind that pushed my considerable keister probably contributed to my success more than I had realized.
I ran through the relay station & was lucky enough to see my close friend Mark, his beautiful fiancée & a very supportive Kerry there to congratulate Mark & root for me. What a rush of emotion as Mark lost his uncle unexpectedly the evening before the race and he decided to run in his honor. I could tell he was conflicted and hurt, but there is something about running that heals. I ran past them as You are the Best Thing (LaMontagne) played; couldn’t have been more meaningful.
Mile 12 thru 14 – Larkin, my original friend from pre-school, snuck onto the course and started to run with me. I put the iPod away just after Wolf Like Me (TV on the Radio) wrapped up. My Half time was a cruising 2:17 & I started to consider where my photo shoot would be held; Cabo, Bahamas or maybe something urban like the railroad tracks behind my house in Bakersfield. Too early to tell but I was feeling great & Larkin was astounded by my time.
Gu (Peppermint Chocolate), water, conversation about my impending relocation.
Gu, Powerade (blue), talk about his new baby girl.
We were step for step, felt strong and reconfigured my goal time down to 4:45.
Mile 15 - We turned the corner on the lake & got slapped directly in the cheeks with a ferocious wind. Where did that come from? That was the wind that pushed me before & now it turned on me like it was a State’s witness. I wasn’t even aware Dallas had gale-force winds, but it that December day; it also brought with it temps in the mid-70s. No one said it would be easy meeting these dreams; I needed to remind myself of that Cliffhanger.
Mile 16 thru 18 – Hmm, what the hell was that? My stomach feel out of my body. Suddenly I was light-headed; I fired down another Gu (Triple Berry). It started to get difficult to do math; what was 26-18?
Mile 19 – The Dolly Parton hills – I didn’t name them. We were actually greeted by a group of degenerates who were wasted on beer, with blonde wigs and balloons stuffed into white tee shirts. They looked ridiculous. I so wanted to stop and join them. In reality, those hills were more like Paris Hilton's, but with the state my body was becoming, Dolly was justifiable. Cramping became a common feeling along with a desire to punch anyone who didn't call me Hugh.
Mile 20 thru 22 – Gu – water – stretch – walk – run. Repeat. I started to look for outside inspiration. I had written the names of Dominic, Wendy, Bob & Chuck on my arms; all people who had battled The Big C in 2008. I continued to look at my tattoo that Dominic had created and asked him to get me through this as my calves had somehow been embalmed and were starting to lock up. Gu – water – stretch – walk – run…I took my last Gu.
Mile 23 - We entered my neighborhood and I hoped to see friends but I wasn't doing too hot and would have appreciated them starting Happy Hour early. Not my luck with such quality friends, on the corner of Swiss and Hall, I saw Ruthie, Courtney & Cash!!! I couldn't take it and I started to cry. I was embarrassed on how hurt I felt; I bet I looked closer to Mickey Rourke than my boy Hugh. Nonetheless they were there, I petted Cash, refused candy I asked them to bring & they radioed ahead to some more friends waiting a couple blocks up.
I desperately wish I were in better condition; I knew I was moving back to California exactly two weeks following the race, and I heard my name being shouted by this breathtaking group of friends. It was too much for me to handle and as I waved to them, my body kept breaking down but now my emotions had been broken. Water – stretch – walk – cry – run. I was a wreck. I lost a best friend to an epic battle with cancer. I squandered a deep love of a woman. I sold my first house. I was returning to California broken. My friends all braved the heat, cheered me on as I limped by crying.
Mile 24 – I lost all desire for small talk. For life. I wasn't sure what town the race was in any longer. We approached the skyline of some downtown; I remember it was hot. The sun beat down on me, and the wind raked my face. I only felt the knots in my muscles starting to crack my bones. Luckily I am big-boned; a petite runner would have lost a leg. Larkin was a true cheerleader coaxing me through each step. He cracked jokes, recalled our mischievousness from Jr. High, tried to get my mind to snap out of its depression. I downed a Powerade followed by Larkin trying to explain why it was important to hydrate. Didn't working – the talk or the Powerade.
Mile 25 – There were more tears than steps. I wanted to rip the watch off my wrist and chuck it at anyone who passed me; I would've needed dozens of watches. I finally realized where I was, Dallas, and I was trying to become a Men's Health model. Changing my lifestyle would have been easier I thought to myself. With the increase in spectators, aka those who have already finished and walking back to their cars, I got a burst of adrenaline. This almost sent my heart into cardiac arrest, as it believed my body sterile of such chemicals.
Mile 26 thru 26.2 - Larkin and I saw the clock and it was north of 5 hours. He said it took Pheidippides well over 5 hours to complete the original journey from Marathon. I smiled at this thought although I had no idea if it true or not. Then I remembered Pheidippides fell dead when he finished his run. I related to Pheidippides. Larkin pealed off as the finish chute formed, and told me how proud he was of me. My ears rang with that. In true Hugh form, I stumbled along, starring at the finish line, when my right leg transformed into a kickstand and locked up on me. I tipped over and grabbed the guardrail as my mummified leg hung from my hip squeezing all my pain to its cramp. Something about this .2 that my body wasn't fond of, yet, Larkin was there to assure me of finishing. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder like an offensive lineman dragged off the field by the scrawny trainer. My leg swiveled out from my hip, the clock kept ticking, and final I crossed that damn finish line.
All I wanted was water, a couch and everyone to clear a path to each. Some chipper lady wrapped my medal around me; I wanted to kick her shins. Someone asked me if I wanted a "completion t-shirt" - I killed that man with dagger-eyes and moved on. I didn't feel anything like a Men's Health model. I may have gotten my ass kicked by one national television though. I didn't have the feeling of accomplishment, rather embarrassment for a poor time, sadness for all the emotion I had spewed on the course, and I smelt awful. It was time to go home.
My incredible friends were not far off with our escape car. Cisco, who finished much before me was there; we were exhausted and craved a beer. As everyone tried to assure me I had just done something great, I sulked. No motivational poster of me. Not a cover-boy this time. I had messages galore from family & friends who weren't there. I still couldn't bring myself to enjoy what I had just finished. Four months of training over. Five-something hours of running over. I was only happy it was over.
******
It has been some time since I ran the White Rock Marathon. Some weight can be given to the rumor I was so beat up it took seven months to write this piece. Not physically, I wasn't even sore following the race. Yet, I had these expectations that were lost on me. I had these emotions that flooded me and I hadn't expected them. I now realize that it was about those people who were on the road to cheer me on. Larkin who ran over 13 miles just to be next to me. The weekends I gave up to train and the people who stood behind me through it all. All those texts, emails, voice mails of encouragement and congratulations made this special. I am not going to be on a Men's Health magazine, but who cares. I'm more Garfield anyways; I'm just glad I have a bunch of Odies to thank!!!
