Marathon Monday

Today was the 111th running of the Boston Marathon. I, obviously, did not run it. However, we live at about mile 10, so it was pretty easy to watch. (Note to Kjerste -- being so far away from the finish prevented me from yelling "Finish strong!" But I did think about it.) Watching it was much easier than running it, especially in the cold, rainy weather. While watching, a little part of me thought, "Hey! I should do this!" I'm sure the reason I thought this is because I am completely insane. The Boston Marathon requires that you qualify by running fairly fast in another marathon, or you can be a charity runner and raise money for a charity team. Or, you can just show up and run as a Bandit, which is an unofficial runner, and you get no number or timing chip. When I look at the qualifying times, I feel pretty strongly that I could qualify as approximately a 70 year old. Unfortunately, I think they verify your age, and although I look old, I don't look that old.

The Marathon, like so many other sports, has an illustrious and sexist history (including a notable moment in which the first woman to finagle a bib number in 1967 was almost forcibly removed from the race). Women were finally allowed to enter officially in 1972. The elite women I saw running this morning were damn fast. Just before the race began, one of them was interviewed for the local news coverage, and she mentioned that, due to the weather, she was going to start out "conservatively" at about a 5 minute 30 second mile pace. What?! This is conservative? Then, throughout the race, commentary focused on how "slow" the Elites were running compared to how fast they could run under better weather conditions. But I'd say they were still blindingly fast. These people are greyhounds. I could certainly never, ever, ever run that fast. Which is why I'm not an elite runner and instead more of an average lump.

My favorite part of the goofy news coverage, however, was the "guy on the street" at Heartbreak Hill (about mile 20) who was diving into the field of runners with a microphone, pointing the live camera at them, and asking them questions. The runners he tagged seemed pretty easy going. Were they too tired to fight him? In this position, I don't know if I could handle the questioning. I'd either be rude ("Why are you talking to me? Can't you see I'm trying to run a marathon, you idiot?") or so tired that I'd lose control of myself and burst into tears. Either way, not pretty.

In general, I would say that watching the marathon today made me want to become a professional athlete. I could center my day around running and getting massages. Granted, I could never be fast enough to win any money as a professional athlete, so that would be a drag, but the hours would be good.