This is not my race report, just some reminiscing. The picture above is from the day before the marathon, although the post below is actually from the day after. I've had much more time on my hands this weekend, and I get to pondering.
Ten years ago, Brian and I had just gotten married and moved into our new house in North Dakota. It was my last year of medical school, and I had saved up ALL my vacation time so that I could spend the entire spring semester with Brian. Unfortunately, due to the nature of Brian's job, he was gone most of that time- first to Saudi for a month and then once the US began bombing Kosovo he was moved to London for a indefinate period of time.
We had just bought a house and I had undertaken the task of decorating and painting. As I was newly married and this was my first home, I had no clue how poor my interior decorating taste truly is. So I started with the basement. Basements generally give me the creeps- I find them cold and dismal, so I thought that a nice cheery yellow would help to brighten up the space.
As I set to the daunting task of taping and painting, I kept the TV on for company, and since I was up and down on the chair and usually had painty fingers, I left the TV on the same channel and watched whatever came on. This is how I wound up watching a documentary about marathons. I was kind-of a runner then, but generally no more than 3 miles. Five at the most. I'm not sure why, but for some reason running a marathon has always been alluring. I distinctly recall watching, from beginning to end, Joan Benoit run and win the 1984 Olympic marathon (I was 11years old at that time, and as my father will attest, not one to willingly sit still through any sport spectating event).
As I listened I did the mental math ( let's see ten minute miles times 26... 260 minutes divided by 60... That's 4 and 1/2 HOURS of running). Then they talked of the Boston Marathon and the qualifying times needed to enter. Almost TWO minutes faster than my typical pace. Oh well, I would never be able to run fast enough to enter the Boston marathon. It is rather deflating to realize that there us something out there that is completely out of your realm of possibility (at least is is when you're 24.) There was no way I could run so fast so far. All regular people ran ten minute miles as far as I knew.
So, for the rest of the story...
And as soon as I put the last stroke of paint on the wall I knew. It was as if something clicked. The room almost began to glow and throb with yellow. It was so horrid that it burned your retinas to look at and would surely induce a seizure if one sat in there for long. It was exactly like living inside of a yellow highlighter. I had to repaint it immediately to a soothing shade if green. Thankfully Brian wasn't there to witness the horror. He never would have let me pick out paint colors again. And yellow is not that easy to cover up.
Oh, and yesterday I ran the Boston Marathon.
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