I guess I have recovered from my extended road trip, because I went to San Diego this weekend to watch two friends run in the Rock and Roll Marathon. Since my running days are over, and the longest I ever ran was a 10k, I was a little envious and remorseful that I had never attempted to run a marathon. I ran many 5k's for the Race for the Cure and considered that an accomplishment of major proportions. But you haven't lived until you have run 26.2 miles non-stop. You have earned your bragging rights for life. You also receive a much nicer metal.
The race started at 6:15 am on Sunday, and there were 45,000 people lined up and everywhere you looked, you saw swarms of insane runners ready to annihilate their bodies, while experiencing the mother of all adrenaline rushes. Luckily for my friends and their bladders, we stayed at a relative's condo, which was right at the starting line. You should have seen the thousands of dirty looks we got as we walked out and they immediately got in line.
The race was quite a sight to see. A grown man running in nothing but a diaper with an over-sized inflated monkey on his back, more than enough Elvis's running in white lycra suits, and hundreds of men and women in tutus. Keeping with the Rock and Roll theme, there were bands every mile, helping everyone to push themselves to the limits of their bodies.
After the race, I could see why I never had the desire to run a marathon. People going over the finish line on the verge of death, throwing up on themselves, blisters the size of lemons, cramps that caused a few to be carried across the line - all the while trying to salvage what their bodies had left. I had the pleasure of driving home, while my friends had their legs wrapped in bags of ice the whole time. But not before we went out to dinner to celebrate.
It wasn't all about the Marathon, and I did get to spend some time to enjoying the paradise, that is San Diego. What a great way to spend my birthday weekend.
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