Why does someone run 26.2 miles? The answers are as varied as the people themselves. Here is one runner's story.
March 2, 1997
The weather couldn't have been better after all the predictions of rain. It was cool in the morning and warmed up later in the day. Sunny, a slight breeze and no noticeable smog. Perfect! The start was a sight. I was in the second "bin" so there were several thousand runners lined up wall-to-wall in front of me.
The first two miles were hard for me. My form was off and I was getting a cramp in my shin. I didn't know what was wrong. I have discovered that if I talk to people while I run, I relax and my form improves. There certainly were lots of people to talk to on the course. So I struck up a conversation with George and Eva. They were running the marathon because "they were crazy". After a few minutes, I relaxed and my legs felt better.
3 miles down and the streets have clusters of spectators cheering us on. Lots of little kids are "high-fiving" the runners. (Lots of adults are too.) Some people have hoses to provide a refreshing spray. It is getting a bit warm. There are bands playing, kids leading cheers and people waving. A motorcycle policeman is with us, so I ask how fast we are going. "4 mph", he says. "Is that all?" "Oh, I meant 14 mph", he responds. "Ah, I thought I felt that cooling rush of wind." He smiles and moves on.
I have my camera with me, so I try to take some pictures of the spectators. Hey, as long as I have to run for 4+ hours, I'm going to record this.
The miles settle into a nice rhythm, clicking off fairly fast. 5, 6, 7, the routine is the same. Drink water, thank the volunteers, drink more water, wave to spectators, pace with someone, eat Powergel every thirty minutes, drink more water. I'm half listening to my radio to keep my mind off any discomfort that I'm feeling. I'm also listening to the crowd.
Bands are playing, people are cheering and dogs are barking. We hit our first climb up Crenshaw and over the Santa Monica Freeway. The traffic on the freeway is going slow, watching all the people run by. But we can't seem to get the drivers to return our waves. Maybe they are frustrated that we seem to be moving faster than they are!
We turn right onto Olympic Blvd. Whew, we avoid that steep climb and get a more relaxed climb instead. Here we enter Koreatown with lots of music and some excellent dancers performing on an elevated stage. The skyline of Downtown is ahead and it makes a for a nice picture. We turn up Western Avenue and I ask the crowd how we are doing. They erupt into cheers and applause. Just what we need to get us up the short incline ahead.
As we approach mile 10, Marathon Photo is taking pictures. We are running at a good pace and I still feel great. Coach is out there cheering for us (I trained with the Los Angeles Road Runners, coached by Pat Connelly.) I give him a high-five. It really helps to see people you know while you are running. I spot other Road Runners on the course and exchange greetings. Funny how everyone is your buddy out here. I only heard one unpleasant exchange all day.
Now we start heading west on Wilshire Blvd. It's absolutely filled from curb to curb with runners as far as I can see. Another Kodak moment. Wow, 19,000+ people are a lot! The miles are going by easily. Everytime I look up we hit another water station. It's strange to watch the middle of the road clear out as everyone heads to the water stations on the side of the road. I try to get a photo of this migration. And the sound of thousands of feet trampling thousands of paper cups will always be in my memory. The sound of a marathon. Volunteers are trying to rake up the empty cups, but we are throwing them down faster than they can clean them up. I learned to look for the road turning white to signal an upcoming water stop.
We turn North up Rossmore Ave. This is a beautiful area and more affluent then the other areas we've been through so far. The spectators are very quiet. Watching, but not interacting with us. I found it strange. Some runners were starting to walk already. Not a good sign as we haven't even passed the halfway point.
Heading west on 3rd St. was a nice section. Someone commented that it was a nice day for a marathon. "And you've got great company.", I added. They laughed and we started joking about having so many friends to run with. Just past the Honda water station, I stopped to take a picture looking behind me of all the runners. A spectator asked if I wanted my picture taken. So I have at least one picture actually proving that I ran.
We turned north onto Highland Ave. and someone commented that the radio was going to interview the men's winner. "I don't want to hear that, I still have half a race to run." I can't even imagine how fast the good runners can run.
As the miles wear on, more people started walking. The look of pain and fatigue was evident on many faces. The crowd was still there, encouraging us. "Your medal is waiting for you." "You're already a winner." "You're looking great." (OK, we accept a small lie now and then.) Speaking for myself, if it wasn't for the spectators along the way, I would have had a much tougher time finishing and it wouldn't have been nearly as much fun. Thank you spectators!
Not only did the spectators offer verbal encouragement, they also offered food. Groups were handing out Korean food, bananas, oranges - even beer! Yep, beer. I passed on that. I did manage to catch a nicely tossed package of peanut M&Ms as I was rounding the corner onto Hollywood Blvd. Good shot.
The entertainment along the route was good. Some of the bands played a bit too loud for us. I liked the dancing that was going on in Koreatown and on Manzanita St. This is definitely a cultural tour of L.A.
Even though there were thousands of runners, it was amazing how many of us stayed within +/-50 feet of each other throughout the entire race! People I had seen at mile 3 were either just in front of me or a few feet behind me at mile 20! We would alternate passing each other depending upon who stopped for what. Back and forth, time and time again. You'd think that after 26 miles, people would get mixed up more than that. So I had familiar faces around me, even if I didn't know their names.
As we got closer to the finish, more people were walking and fewer people were talking. A man passed me and asked how I was doing. I didn't have a chance to repond but the look on my face must have said it all. "Don't say it, I feel the same." That's what kept you going, knowing that everyone around you felt as sore, as tired and as eager to get this race over with, as you did.
We pass the 35K mark. So, just how long is a marathon in kilometers? I think it's more than 40. Just keep running. Now I'm pacing off of Tony. He lives in Alicia Park and he has run 10 marathons. We are keeping each other going. I walk the water stops so I can drink comfortably. He runs through them. I catch him on the incline again. We continue running towards our common goal. A downhill. Shooting pain in my left foot as a blister breaks. It hurts but it will hurt if I walk or run, so I may as well keep running. I'll be done faster. I see lots of fellow competitors walking with that ungainly - I've got blisters - gait.
Finally, I see the banner that says "1 Mile to go". What a welcome sight, (except for the ups and down between where I am and the finish.) The crowds along the route are growing. People are cheering us on and cheering on their friends. We see other runners proudly wearing their finisher's medal, standing along the route. Our egos force us to run a little harder, pay attention to our form, to try and look like real runners for the finish. My legs are begging me to walk, but I push on in my slow run.
A downhill and the road takes a sharp left. I reach the intersection and see the Finish Line, up the hill! I concentrate all my energy on running up that hill. I stop briefly to take a picture of the Finish Line. Then, as the tears start welling up in my eyes, I cross the line with my arms raised in an unconscious gesture of my personal victory. I just ran 26.2 miles!
I managed to get my emotions under control as the chip remover took the timing chip off my shoe. And then I received my finisher's medal from a cheerful volunteer. I was tired, drained and feeling on top of the world all at the same time. I managed to get through the crowd, working my way to the exit gate to join my friends back at our assembly area. Just as I was going through the narrow gate, I looked up and saw a friend of mine who handed me a bouquet of flowers. Self composure fled my tired body, tears gushed out of my eyes and I couldn't talk. I could only cry.
For those of you who know me, this last sentence probably seems unbelievable. I was surprised myself in some ways, but on another level I think it was quite understandable. I was depleted of energy after accomplishing something that I never, ever, thought I could do. I had decided to run a marathon, not out of some great love of running but as a memorial to a very special friend who had died a year earlier. Jim had told me once that he wanted to train for and run a marathon after he retired. He was 61 at the time and I remember that I tried to convince him to not wait until he retired. We talked about his running and I even offered to train with him if he wanted to run a marathon. But he was willing to wait, just a couple more years...
About three months later Jim was diagnosed with liver cancer. Treatment at first appeared to make a difference but within three months of his initial diagnosis, Jim had passed away.
So I decided to live his dream for him and in some way keep his spirit alive in me. Many times during my training I wanted to quit. I'm not an endurance runner, I don't like running on my own. But his dream kept me going. I wasn't doing this for me, I was doing it for Jim.
It wasn't until I was actually running the marathon that I realized that Jim had given me another gift. Years before I had sworn that people who ran marathons were crazy. You'd never catch me running that far. No way. Even my offer to train with Jim was offered with the idea that it wouldn't be accepted. It was a safe gesture.
As I was swept along in the moving mob of thousands, I became aware of how special the event was - not covering the distance, but the people who came out of their houses to cheer and encourage us along or to run the marathon. The volunteers who had dedicated a beautiful day to handing out water or Vaseline or power gel to thousands of sweating, panting runners instead of staying home or going to the mall. And the chance to see the city where I lived from an entirely different viewpoint - to travel through neighborhoods I had rarely visited, to listen to music from other cultures, to smile and wave at hundreds, no thousands, of my neighbors and do all this on foot.
Jim had given me the gift of discovery - a chance to see L.A. in a beautiful light. The light of a city united in celebration of the human spirit. And what a wonderful discovery that was.
It was all worth it - the training, the pain, the emotion, the experience. I rank my marathon experience as one of the greatest events of my life. I hope that any of you who have ever thought about participating in a marathon takes the opportunity to create your own experience. I don't think that you will regret it.