you don't know the half of it

So last Sunday morning my many hours of running and classic rock finally came to fruition at the Outer Banks Half Marathon. 13.1 miles of windy, gorgeous, flat running, interrupted at mile 8 by a daunting bridge over the sound. I was pretty excited when I got there Saturday night, so much so that it took me forever to get to sleep. My sister-in-law and I woke up at 5 the next morning, ate a quick breakfast, stretched every muscle we could think of, and headed off for the starting line of the half. There were thousands of people milling around, of all shapes and sizes. We knew that thousands more were 13 miles further up the island, ready to start the full marathon, which would end at the same finish line. After a quick but pungent visit to the port-a-johns, Kristi and I opted to get in line with the people who looked a little shorter, slightly less fiercely competitive, and a bit less Kenyan than those who were stretching and bouncing up and down right by the starting flag. The world record for the half marathon is somewhere between 60 and 70 minutes. I've been running 10 minute miles. We stood at the back, the very back, of the line.

They started us in 3 or 4 groups, and by the time our group started, it became clear to us that only a few of them intended to actually run this race. The man next to us actually had ski poles in his hands. I don't know what he did with those, but I know it was not running. So we were feeling pretty good about our speed as we passed one group of people after another. Motto: surrounding yourself with mediocrity sure boosts your self-esteem.

I really enjoyed running this race. The scenery was lovely, and like I said, practically the whole thing is flat. I was feeling pretty good until disaster struck, right before the bridge at mile 8. Knees have always been a problem in my family, and mine are no exception. They had bothered me before, but nothing compared to this sharp, shooting pain. So I gritted my teeth, threw back some more Gatorade, and decided that I was going to finish no matter what.

Around mile 12, my resolve began to weaken. At this point, there are people all along the road, and the tears are streaming backwards on my face. I'd like to say this was due to my breakneck speed, but actually I was running into the wind. As I rounded the last curve and glimpsed the finish line ahead, however, I was met by a heart-warming surprise. All around me, people were standing and clapping, yelling and cheering. I began to smile through the tears. After all, these people, who didn't know me from Adam's house cat, could see that I was struggling, and out of the goodness of their hearts, they stood and were cheering me on to the finish line. The theme song from Chariots of Fire began to play in my head. I could see the finish line, I was just yards from it... and then a loudspeaker cut into my moment of glory: "Half marathon runners, please stay to the right to make way for Mike Wardian of Arlington, Virginia, the leader of the marathon!" The crowd erupted in cheers as a skinny man whose legs were roughly the length of my entire body zoomed past me and crossed the finish line just in front of me. There are moments in life that you will always be able to summon into clear visual memory for the rest of your existence. I will forever see Mike Wardian's sweaty back, the frenzied onlookers, the bright blue sky above the rippling flags, and the look of total shock tempered by amusement on my own red face as I crossed that finish line. I thankfully grabbed the towel and the Gatorade held out to me by the race staff, plopped down on the grass at the side of the road (to the great relief of my knees), and laughed my head off.