A Race in Three Acts: Act I

After nearly a week, I’m finally ready to write about my experience running the LA Marathon last Sunday.  Right off the bat, I must disclose that I did not come in under the time I was hoping for.  I didn’t even make my secondary goal, which was breaking the 4-hour mark; I missed that by 3 minutes.  But I’m happy to say I’ve processed my disappointment and have moved (or should I say hobbled?) on.  Therefore I will spare you the self-flagellation and commence in giving you my race report in three parts: the beginning, the middle, and the end.

In the beginning…

A and I had prepaid to park at the finish line and take a shuttle to the start.  There was a long line of cars to park and an even longer line of people to board the shuttles.  My anxiety and impatience kicked in immediately, but both lines moved pretty swiftly.  (A tip for future LA Marathoners: they ask you to pick a shuttle at half-hour increments, but you don’t need to abide by the time you signed up for since the shuttles run continuously and no one checks to make sure you’re boarding at your designated time.)

Since the daylight savings time change occurred mere hours before we boarded, it was still dark outside.  We took the freeway from Santa Monica to Dodger Stadium.  It was alarming how long the ride took going 60 miles per hour, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much longer it will be at a tenth of that speed.

We were sitting next to a “legacy” runner, someone who’s run the LA Marathon every year since inception.  I’m not sure if it was because of his vaunted status or if he had a miracle race at his advanced age, but he was granted a place in Corral A, the fastest seeded corral, right behind the elite runners.  He told us he expected to finish in 5 and a half hours.

I felt a pit forming in my stomach, knowing we were at least ten thousand runners behind him thanks to the seeded corrals.

When we arrived at Dodger Stadium, A and I bee-lined to the portable toilets.  My ideal intake versus output ratio before a race can be summed up in this equation:

[Fluid ounces + (1.5 hours – X minutes in line)] x 2 = < 10 minutes till start time

As any good mathematician knows, X is always the variable.  In our first round of expulsion, X ended up being about 20 minutes.  We were in good shape.

Next, we hit up the gear check.  We had all our stuff in one of the clear plastic bags they provided at the expo.  As an added security measure after last year’s Boston marathon, you were required to use the bag the race provided.  Fortunately there were two of us running since one of the bags we got fell apart before we got home from the expo.

The gear check was a series of UPS trucks organized by badge number.  They were all manned by volunteers.  The confluence of famous brown trucks and large signage was easy to see and the denominations small enough that there was practically no wait.  It was a wonderful system. 

Since we were only using one bag, we checked it in under A’s number since, unless something went horribly awry, he would finish first.  We unzipped our hoodies and stuffed them into the bag.  I expected to be cold since the sun still hadn’t risen, but wasn’t.  This was a bad sign since if I wasn’t cold at 6 AM, I knew I would be hot by 7 AM.

After checking our gear, there was nothing to do but wait around.  Since we were in a ballpark, the best place to sit was the bleachers.  There were people milling all over the place and a commercial for Asics, the title sponsor, was on permanent loop on the big ballpark screen.  Tons of students wearing neon yellow vests teemed like ants everywhere I looked, with a large group of them taking up an entire bleacher section and reciting motivational cheers.  These were Students Run LA.

As the half hour mark approached, we decided to do one last pee.  The stadium restrooms were available to the runners, a nice perk over a smelly outhouse.  The line for the Men’s room was long.  The line for the Women’s was catastrophic.  It wrapped around almost to center field for a bathroom at home plate.  I saw my chance slipping away.  Then a woman came by and announced there were empty restrooms on the fourth floor.  A herd of us migrated to the stairwell.  They all darted up, but a security guard chased us down and said we weren’t allowed here.  Everyone ignored him but me.  I’d like to say that it was because of my respect for authority, but really I didn’t want to climb three flights of stairs before running 26.2 miles (little did I know I was already on the 2^nd floor).

Forced to the take the elevator, I waited for an eternity.  By the time I made it to the fourth floor, the secret was out and there was a small line, but including this line and the slow elevator, I still made out well.  X was about 25 minutes.

Confident with our empty bladders, A and I headed to the mess that was the start line just as the sun was rising.

We tried our best to follow the signs, but there were so many people in our way we couldn’t go far.  We found ourselves in a big traffic jam – trees who couldn’t see the forest.  Were we able to pan out, we’d realize we were outside the Open Corral, not even inside the chute.  People tried to push forward, but there was nowhere to go.  There was only a small opening to get into a small area already heaving with 21,000 other people.

The elite women took off 20 minutes before our start time.  People tried to surge ahead, little by little.  There were waves of movement as the countdown neared.  The mayor was talking as people shuffled forward.  Those in the corral started removing their excess sweatshirts and throwing them over the fence.  They landed on my head.  A and I held hands not to get separated.  Someone from American Idol sang the national anthem as patriots took off their hats in respect and traitors tried to take advantage and advance their positions.

The announcer started the countdown, “Five!  Four!  Three!  Two!  One!”

The horn blared, people cheered, and off we…walked.