Some years ago, my family decided to participate in a Thanksgiving 5K run. These are known nationwide as Turkey Trots. Every single 5k on the last Thursday in November, from Spokane to Schenectady, is a Turkey Trot. Those in my family who anticipated needing third helpings of pie justified that urge by standing outside earlier than necessary on a morning that was colder than was necessary. This became a tradition. And let me tell you, turkey tastes better and the post-meal nap is more refreshing when your legs are jiggling like that weird orange jello mold with carrots in it.
I believe, as hearty, folksy, salty-earthy Kansans, we were perfectly suited for Turkey Trots. There's a lame joke about weather in Kansas (and probably a few other places): Don't like it? Wait 5 minutes and it will change. There's a reason many people recite this zinger with a defeated tone. We've been on the business end of an unexpected cold front. Running a 5K in late November mimics the wildly erratic weather patterns that accompany the changing seasons in the Midwest. Before the race begins, it is bracingly cold. Standing there in lightweight running gear allows that cold to get nice and intimate. Usually there is a seven to ten minute wait between lining up and actual running. I find that screaming helps me keep Jack Frost at bay. Once the race begins things start to get better. The chill invigorates you and breathing no longer feels like a metal rake scraping across your lungs. It's gone from bitterly cold to pleasantly cool. After settling into a groove, you can enjoy the scenery and maybe pass a third grader who couldn't pace himself. Eventually your layered gear betrays you and you realize that you are stewing under your Nike SolarTherm Tec Pullover. You peel the layers off and ditch your complimentary Turkey Trot beanie in a stranger's garbage can, because you are now burning up. And just like an April day on the plains, you have gone from winter clothes to shirtless with hair plastered to your forehead with sweat in less than an hour.
These Turkey Trots were my introduction to organized running (for pleasure, not gym class). Eventually, once a year was not enough, and I started to sign up for other, non-holiday related 5Ks. Earlier this year I ran in a 10K for the first time. 5Ks were now kid stuff. If I'm going to pay money and drive out to some dinky town's Old Settlers Run then I need to be running for more than half an hour. Since then, I have participated in one other 10K. Or most of one. It wasn't my fault. I asked a cop if I was supposed to turn down a street that other runners were on. He said yes. That was wrong. I cut the second loop I was supposed to be running in half. I probably should have studied the course map a little closer, but that doesn't mean the course wasn't poorly labeled.
I was still encouraged by how great I felt after running those 8ish kilometers. Rather than taking the next logical and doing a 10-miler or a half-marathon (or competently running a second 10K), I have decided to throw logic down the garbage disposal and commit myself to a marathon. I will self-immolate and become a chariot of fire. My training program of choice (via Nike Running) is 24 weeks long. Using that time frame I sought a nearby race happening in April. Fortune smiled upon me in the form of the Gettysburg Marathon, a race as ridiculous as my decision to run it. Participants, when registering, must decide to run for either the North or the South. The two sides then compete for the best results. As the official website states, runners use their own criteria to choose their sides. It could be where they live, where they're from, a familial connection, or their feelings about slavery. That one isn't true. But, even though it's just a marathon and the choosing sides is just for fun, I still can't fathom that there are people who will pick the South. Who would dedicate their 26.2 miles to the forced servitude team? Did I mention that the free shirt comes in gray or blue based on the team? I'm going to judge the hell out of everyone in gray. Really, the Gettysburg Marathon is the perfect first marathon, because the finisher's medal features the U.S.A. and Confederate flags. Such a motif ensures that the medal will not be worn or displayed anywhere, anytime.
I spent yesterday and the day before entering my runs into my calendar. It was shocking to block off three hours. That would be like if I went to see The Wolf of Wall Street and instead of a seat I had a treadmill set to a moderate pace. I can't really wrap my mind around that. And when I google "How the hell do you run a marathon" things about energy gels, hydration schedules, and chaffing come up. There is all this extra stuff you have to know about and monitor in order to run super duper far. I'm not the best at self-reflection, so the idea of tracking how well a meal agreed with my level of exertion seems tedious and embarrassing. I'm only doing this to overcome the physical discomfort and the monotony. I hadn't counted on logistics being the thing that brought me down.
Speaking of monotony, the Gettysburg Marathon, because some of the route is not fully closed to traffic, does not allow headphones. That might be the most frightening prospect, spending 1/4 of a day running without Queen to propel me along.
Me, in less pain than I currently have my sights set on.
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