How Did I Get Here?

Sunday

I wanted to write a supplemental entry to cover the post race.

After I was done…. I was done. My plan was simple; find a kind-hearted soul in the crowd after the race who would lend me a cell phone so I could call Joe. This is what is generally known as “taking advantage of people” since it was actually the plan to sponge off strangers after the race.

I stumbled around the ending chute looking for Joe but then realized that the crowd was not allowed in until farther down. I had to go through the food area first but the line was so long and not moving (you can imagine no one was really in a big hurry at this point) so I bypassed the food and dove right into the crowd. Well, hobbled forcefully. OK, OK, leaned purposely before getting swept away.

But not before getting my space blanket (why are they always the cheap tin foil space blanket?) and, OK, cutting the line to grab a banana and a little bag of pretzels. Yeah, like anyone was going to get violent over this and attack me with all the ferocity of a sick kitten.

When I stumbled out in the crowd, I still couldn’t find Joe but because my body was still buzzing with confusion over the marathon and my mind just wasn’t right. I was in no hurry, although I was freezing, and didn’t think I could put together a coherent explanation to a total stranger that I needed to borrow their phone.

“Excuse ferret, could I bother magnolias and perhaps use your congenial defect to call my overlord pacaderm?”

Maybe I should get my head together before I try this.

So I made it through the crowd and was looking for the place I could get my goody bag. Since I was late yesterday, all I got was my bib this morning and they said I could get my bag afterwards so I had to locate where they where doing this. During my search I overheard that they were giving out free beer to the runners.

Free beer?

As you can imagine, this wiped away from my frazzled mind any thoughts of locating a phone, goody bags, Joe, or overlord pacaderms. There was beer to be had.

“Where are they giving away the beer?” I asked a stranger.

“Over there, you sick wretched shell of a man” points a lady (maybe that last part was imagined, I’m not sure) and to my dismay, it was a couple a hundred yards away. Not only did this distance seem like a marathon itself but there were about a million people between me and the big Michelob blow-up tent. It hurt to take one step much less the hundreds it would take through throngs of people along the way.

But damn it, free beer.

So I shuffled, waited in line, and then got my beer along with a can of something I had to ask about.

“What the hell’s that?” (post-marathoners can be blunt).

“It’s like an energy drink but with alcohol.”

Normally, this combination would sound pretty damn good but the little that had dribbled out of the already-opened can was a bright orange and the way my body was rebelling at the time, this would be a very bad idea in a very bad way. So I chucked it and concentrated on the can of beer which pretty much felt like a sustained full-body orgasm.

Now that’s more like it.

This gave me the ability to hobble back over to the bag tent and get my goody bag and stayed around long enough to allow me to find a nice lady who let me use her cell phone to call Joe.

“So, where did you park?”

“Really? You do realize…. marathon” (pointing in the general direction of my legs…)

What could you do? And how could I complain? Joe had brought me here and was here to pick me up, obviously proud of my accomplishment which meant more to me than I conveyed to him.

Joe and his son were there and Joe had never seen the spectacle of a marathon. I described the beginning and now, probably even more dramatic, was the aftermath. The recovery, the pride, the pain, all the emotions that flow unteathered. I was so happy he got to see that because it’s something that’s hard to describe unless you’ve seen it up close and personal.

We walked (actually I stumbled) to the car with Joe, his son, and because we are Marines, we found another young Marine who needed a ride back to his car at the start line so Joe brought him along. Once a Marine….

On the way home, as you may have guessed, I indulged myself with my biggest indulgence. Yes, Starbucks is as much of a post-marathon reality as massive doses of lactic acid pooling in your muscles. Joe treated and a few minutes later, a venti triple shop white chocolate mocha was pouring down my throat and the result, for the second time in an hour, was the full body orgasm.

Starbucks: God’s breast milk.

When we got back to Joe’s house, the plan was already set.

Shower
Sleep for 2 hours
Hot tub
BBQ Ribs and chicken till I puke
More hot tub
Complete loss of even the most remote consciousness

That’s a schedule I pretty much kept except the sleep thing went a little long since Joe couldn’t find it in his heart (or his sack) to wake me.

The last thing I remember before falling off the cliff in bed was how lucky I was to have people in my life like Joe who I can call friends. He helped me so much this weekend and was genuinely excited about the whole experience.

Number 17 was in the bag and once again, I relearned that hard work pays off and adding friends into the equation makes the experience so much more rich.

Thank you Joe

Free Advice for Today: “Watch your weight.”

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 14th, 2007 at 11:35 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.