Firstly let me say congratulations to everyone who ran the Dublin Marathon, especially all the lads in my group, and also the impressive turnout from Waterford AC.
As promised, I did not run the marathon, and because I had had a while to acclimatise myself to being in marathon limbo I did not have any (many) last minute urges or spontaneous race decisions, although the Guinness the night before probably helped. However, it was nonetheless an emotional day. I got up early to see the others off and went to find a corner at mile 1 just off O'Connell Street and waited. I was eagerly anticipating seeing the elites, as, being a marathon snail I do not usually come across many of them. They appeared in the distance, and by the time I had made the decision to watch and clap instead of trying to take pictures, I found myself gazing wistfully after them in the distance. The women quickly followed, and then the sub 3 hour runners. Very soon there was a bottleneck, and the spectators had to duck as Deep Heat-scented clothing was flung in our direction. I heard all the banter that I would normally say, ''Are we nearly there yet?'', ''Why are we going so slowly, have we finished?'', and the classic that very quickly becomes painful to even think about, ''Only 25 miles to go!''
I was keen to see the elite finish, and so I positioned myself 50 metres from the finish line at 1:45, still marvelling that by the time I had walked back to the hotel, had a coffee, brushed my teeth and walked back, a 30 year old Kenyan had just run 21 miles. While I waited, the commentator gave updates on their location, and it quickly became clear that Moses Kangogo Kibet was going for a new course record. At 2:08:58 he crossed the line with big grin on his face (Yeah, I'd be smiling too). The women's record was also broken by Russian Tatiana Aryasova in 2:26:12. Aleksey Sokolov, the previous record holder, finished 5th, and there was something about him and his running that was animalistic, a machine of pure grit and sinew.
(It was perfect running weather, crisp and sunny, but apparently the winner was apprehensive about whether he would be able to run under such conditions, and as Star Africa categorically stated, ''The weather was not suitable to put a Kenyan on marathon roads.'' I think he did ok at 4.9 minute miles for 26.2.)
I stood at the finish line for 5 hours, until my voice was hoarse from shouting and I had tiny blisters on my hands from clapping (and in an oddly perverse way I was glad that at least one part of my body was blistered that weekend. Bizarre runner mentality.) Throughout the entire day, the only time I could bear thinking about the marathon - my marathon! - without wanting to run back to the hotel and curling up in a ball of sedentary self-pity was when I was at that finish line, and I wouldn't have missed a single minute of it for the world.
Guidelines for watching the finish line from a runner's perspective
• Some people can run the same time as the guy dying right next to them, and look as fresh as the moment they crossed the start line.
• There are always really disappointed-looking 2:40:00 runners, as if being inhumanely brilliant wasn't quite good enough.
• Men who cross the line carrying their children get the loudest cheers.
• You will someone with a green face. Green skin is not pretty.
• There are people who stand at the finish line for five hours, and need inspiration to cheer constantly: if you write your name on your bib, you get 80% more support than anyone else (and trust me, you'll need it all).
• If you let out a guttural, animalistic victory roar in the final straight, the crowd will love you.
• Some men arrive with just the one bleeding nipple, and no one can explain it.
• There will be a barefoot runner with leathery dirty feet.
• There will be bandits who get pulled out of the race by the stewards. Don't carry your race number in your shoe, or down your shorts. You'll regret it when you get pulled over at 3:59:47.
• You'll see at least one woman racing in full make-up.
• Some people cannot physically manage the 50 metres to the finish. As a supporter, it is your moral duty to do whatever it takes to help them over the line. They've already given everything.
• It's awesome when you see your friends come in: shout yourself silly at them. They probably won't look round but somewhere in their subconsciousness they'll appreciate the support.
• Don't interfere with the course route. The most minuscule details become unmanageable hurdles in a marathon; cracks in the road become canyons that bend your feet in excruciating directions; spectators' waving arms in your path become a barrier that must be run through or around.
• If you stay at the finish line for long enough, some of that glory might just rub off onto you. If not, run your own marathon.
As promised, I did not run the marathon, and because I had had a while to acclimatise myself to being in marathon limbo I did not have any (many) last minute urges or spontaneous race decisions, although the Guinness the night before probably helped. However, it was nonetheless an emotional day. I got up early to see the others off and went to find a corner at mile 1 just off O'Connell Street and waited. I was eagerly anticipating seeing the elites, as, being a marathon snail I do not usually come across many of them. They appeared in the distance, and by the time I had made the decision to watch and clap instead of trying to take pictures, I found myself gazing wistfully after them in the distance. The women quickly followed, and then the sub 3 hour runners. Very soon there was a bottleneck, and the spectators had to duck as Deep Heat-scented clothing was flung in our direction. I heard all the banter that I would normally say, ''Are we nearly there yet?'', ''Why are we going so slowly, have we finished?'', and the classic that very quickly becomes painful to even think about, ''Only 25 miles to go!''
I was keen to see the elite finish, and so I positioned myself 50 metres from the finish line at 1:45, still marvelling that by the time I had walked back to the hotel, had a coffee, brushed my teeth and walked back, a 30 year old Kenyan had just run 21 miles. While I waited, the commentator gave updates on their location, and it quickly became clear that Moses Kangogo Kibet was going for a new course record. At 2:08:58 he crossed the line with big grin on his face (Yeah, I'd be smiling too). The women's record was also broken by Russian Tatiana Aryasova in 2:26:12. Aleksey Sokolov, the previous record holder, finished 5th, and there was something about him and his running that was animalistic, a machine of pure grit and sinew.
(It was perfect running weather, crisp and sunny, but apparently the winner was apprehensive about whether he would be able to run under such conditions, and as Star Africa categorically stated, ''The weather was not suitable to put a Kenyan on marathon roads.'' I think he did ok at 4.9 minute miles for 26.2.)
I stood at the finish line for 5 hours, until my voice was hoarse from shouting and I had tiny blisters on my hands from clapping (and in an oddly perverse way I was glad that at least one part of my body was blistered that weekend. Bizarre runner mentality.) Throughout the entire day, the only time I could bear thinking about the marathon - my marathon! - without wanting to run back to the hotel and curling up in a ball of sedentary self-pity was when I was at that finish line, and I wouldn't have missed a single minute of it for the world.
Guidelines for watching the finish line from a runner's perspective
• Some people can run the same time as the guy dying right next to them, and look as fresh as the moment they crossed the start line.
• There are always really disappointed-looking 2:40:00 runners, as if being inhumanely brilliant wasn't quite good enough.
• Men who cross the line carrying their children get the loudest cheers.
• You will someone with a green face. Green skin is not pretty.
• There are people who stand at the finish line for five hours, and need inspiration to cheer constantly: if you write your name on your bib, you get 80% more support than anyone else (and trust me, you'll need it all).
• If you let out a guttural, animalistic victory roar in the final straight, the crowd will love you.
• Some men arrive with just the one bleeding nipple, and no one can explain it.
• There will be a barefoot runner with leathery dirty feet.
• There will be bandits who get pulled out of the race by the stewards. Don't carry your race number in your shoe, or down your shorts. You'll regret it when you get pulled over at 3:59:47.
• You'll see at least one woman racing in full make-up.
• Some people cannot physically manage the 50 metres to the finish. As a supporter, it is your moral duty to do whatever it takes to help them over the line. They've already given everything.
• It's awesome when you see your friends come in: shout yourself silly at them. They probably won't look round but somewhere in their subconsciousness they'll appreciate the support.
• Don't interfere with the course route. The most minuscule details become unmanageable hurdles in a marathon; cracks in the road become canyons that bend your feet in excruciating directions; spectators' waving arms in your path become a barrier that must be run through or around.
• If you stay at the finish line for long enough, some of that glory might just rub off onto you. If not, run your own marathon.
I like those guidelines !
ReplyDeleteNext time i'll try the victory roar (last time in my NYC marathon i was just crying)