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Walk
to Roslyn
When
Carrie and Steph got to us, none of us were mad at all. It was
a nice reunion and they congratulated me on the run. After a
few minutes of trying, I arose from the ground and I hobbled
/ they walked to the train station. On the way, Carrie teased
me about getting some Chipotle tacos (a bad decision
back during my Seattle marathon
earlier this year). We actually passed a Chipotle
and I think I gagged a little. I know my asshole did.
Other
People on the Train
We
got to the train and it wasn’t as difficult as last year,
although I didn’t get a seat right away. Again, it was
a bad day to decide to ride the metro if you weren’t running.
More than a few unlucky, regularly dressed people were very
sorry they chose this day to ride.
After
getting a seat a few stops down, I was forced to listen to two
young Marines and a girl talk about their race. They were not
bragging but just by the discussion, I could tell a few things
right off:
1.
I was old.
2. They were not.
3. It had been a long time since I shared the #1 situation
above.
They
talked about other races and nonchalantly discussed the highs
and lows of the race. It seemed to be no big deal to them, even
when they talked of the fact that it wasn’t their fastest.
It was about then that I got a peek at one of their watches.
3:03.
If
I would have had the strength to operate my sphincter, I would
have shit myself.
Driving
to McDonalds
We
got to the Franconia-Springfield stop and Carrie had to help
me up off the seat. At this point, all I wanted was to get home
and get horizontal. And no, that isn’t code for some sexual
desire, I mean what I said. Get and stay horizontal.
Pervs.
But
before I could reap the sweet nectar of my
king-size bed, we had to make a stop. Carrie and the kids
had overestimated the availability of venders on the course
and the result was that they burned through the snacks they
brought early and were mighty hungry by this point.
So
where does the celebratory post-marathon extravaganza take place?
You
guessed it, McDonalds.
But
I was in no shape to un-ass my brand new Honda
Pilot’s cushy leather chair so I stayed in the car
while they went in to purchase the oh-so-healthy post-marathon
feast.
There
I sat with another 26.2 miles under my belt and what was I doing?
Cramming a hamburger and fries into my pie hole. But hey, there
was also the strawberry shake so I got my fruit group in there.
Driving
home
Once
I got home, I again had to deal with getting on my feet and
staggering inside. Carrie managed to get a picture
of this event and I think it tells the rest of the story of
getting into the house.
It
was a weird feeling reentering the room I had left 12 hours
earlier since no one had been there since I left. Everything
was exactly the same including the clothes I was wearing. The
only addition was a bright
shiny medal and a metric ton of lactic acid.
I
took a shower and flopped into the bed I had dreamed about all
day. I lay there, wallowing in the fact that I had finished
yet another marathon and that it meant as much to me as any
of the others. That feeling just never gets old and one of these
times, I might just conquer the mental and physical part and
feel worthy of the title “marathoner”.
Other
stories in this series:
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