Garrison
I'll admit it, I was late to the whole active lifestyle, healthy living thing. Now, well past my youthful years and solidly in my middle age, I've decided to do something about actively managing my health. Had I known that things were going to go downhill so quickly I would have started earlier.
I've tried all sorts of health fads and tricks--treadmills, running, bicycle riding, low carbohydrate diets, you name it and I've tried it, or at least thought about trying it.
While at lunch with a group of coworkers, one of them mentioned she was planning to participate in a fundraising walk in the Sacramento area. I asked a few questions, and by the time lunch was over, I was committed to participating as well.
The fundraising portion of the program went well. Friends and coworkers contributed and my family really came through with both financial and emotional support. That's both good and bad. Good in that they made the financial part go smoothly. Bad in that had no way to gracefully back out once I realized how long a half marathon really is. For reference, it's the same round trip distance between my hometown of Atwater and the big city of Merced plus 1.1 miles. Yes, if you calculated that total distance correctly you came up with 13.1 miles. 13.1 miles!
I cut out the more gruesome details of the training and preparation for your benefit. Let's just leave it at it involved a lot of whining and crying and sniveling and blubbering. Then I would get out of bed and do the training walks. Well, most of them.
Time passed. I walked. My generous family and friends donated to the cause. Some of them donated more that once. I continued to walk.
Finally the week of the race arrived. I felt completely unprepared. I hitched a ride downtown with my coworker/co-walkers and picked up my high tech race shirt, race bib and race tag. This last time is a small, radio frequency tag used to track start and finish times.
The Saturday morning of the race arrived early. I needed to be in the park where the race would start and finish by 6:30AM at the start line at 7:45AM. I found my coworkers and we shared our nervous apprehension and fears. Would our legs hold out? Would we run out of energy? Would we be able to finish?
The picture below shows three of the four D3 LED competitors and a friend. From left to right is Diana, her friend Kela, Richard and me. This was the peak of our collective energy levels for the day. It's all downhill from here.
As a way to document my heroic effort I had decided to photograph the route and myself throughout the entire event.
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And finally, one last picture with the girls before we start. I noticed that my number bib was sticking out and looked puffy. Diana was kind enough to point out that the bib was laying tight against my tummy and that my tummy was puffy not the bib. Diana is too honest some of the time.
The announcer called all the walkers to the starting line. The Star Spangled Banner was sung. The countdown was completed. We were off.
My plan was to take photographs throughout the marathon as part of my documentation plan required. With all of the excitement of finally beginning the trial, I forgot to take pictures for the first third or so of the event. Here I am at mile five approximately by my own guess. I still look fresh. I'm in a good rhythm. "Man, this is going to be easy," I thought.
Here you start to see the stress of the event on my face. I've been pushing hard for seven or eight miles and it is starting to take a toll on me. I expected this to happen, but know that I'll be able to draw on my reserves for the final kick in the closing miles.
This mile marker appeared, then a cold chill ran down my spine.
This picture captures the rugged wilderness in which the event was held. It's not uncommon for ultra marathoners in extreme conditions such as this to hallucinate as a result of dehydration and the overwhelming stresses placed on the body, brain and central nervous system.
We will revisit this topic shortly.
There are times when the lighting in a place is perfect, the subject is exquisitely framed in a moment that comes and quickly passes. Ansel Adams perfected all of this in his photographic art and left of a wonderful archive of photographs that captured the moment.
Then there are times when you trip on a small crack in the trail and your point-and-shoot camera goes all full-auto on you.
I haven't mentioned that my allergies were acting up during all of this. It started three days before the race. Here I am mid-sneeze.
The race organizers were thoughtful in preparing the route with informational and motivational sayings posted on little signs throughout the route. This one says, "There are 82 miles of trails (in the Parkway), the same distance between Sacramento and Lake Tahoe."
I was inspired.
I don't remember what this diamond shaped sign said exactly. To the best of my recollection it was something like, "The weak shall die a thirsty death and be buried in the rocks of the trail." I think that's what it said.
Mile marker four appeared in the distance. My spirit fell. I began to look for shortcuts or a graceful way of quitting without my coworkers knowing I was a wimp. None was found. I continued to walk.
I decided to just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. Here, my right foot is in front of my left.
This sign says that the Parkway is used by X number of people a year. I think it was 47 billion, but I might be wrong.
I was inspired.
Here is a picture of one of those 47 billion people.
That full auto camera thing--yes, it happened again.
Here a bunch of people walk off into the distance and abandon me to a solo journey.
Mile marker five appeared. Just writing that brings back the horror.
I notice the river. It's right over there! Can I use it to get to the finish line quicker? No, it's flowing in the wrong direction. What if I walk to the halfway point upstream, construct a raft of twigs and discarded water bottles tied together with the long grasses that border the river, could I float to the finish line? No, I take a firm stand and the high road, and avoid the low river.
"Do just once what others say you can't do and they will never pay attention to your limitations again."
I was inspired.
At this point I've realized I have to do something about my pace. I'd been listening to some relaxing Dave Mathews Band music on the iPod. It was putting me to sleep. I switched over to AC/DC. The good thing about using AC/DC to pace your walk is that all the songs are the same. Oh the words and melodies might be different, but really, at the core, same, same.
With both fists raised showing the devil's horn sign, I sang along at the top of my lungs to AC/DCs 'Back in Black' album. Or maybe I didn't. It was beginning to get a bit weird and my memory is a little fuzzy.
"May the course be with you." One of the organizers is a Star Wars fan.
I was inspired.
Then a little water angel appeared.
And then another.
I got greedy and tried to drink two cups at he same time. It didn't work.
If I don't make it to the finish, you'll be able to identify my body by the numbered bib. It's has number 419 carefully hidden in the design. You'll have to look closely to see it as it was hidden in the background like some sort of new age camouflage.
"How old are you?"
"Ten, Almost eleven."
"Is this your first marathon?"
"Yep."
"Me too."
She then walked off into the distance and disappeared around a corner. I never saw her again.
The sneezing didn't stop. I just stop taking pictures of them.
ACCESS PROHIBITED
MITIGATION SITE
RAFTING
<--
I was inspired.
Approaching the midpoint of the race, yet the point in the race that I thought I had achieved at picture #5, we had to cross under Sunrise Avenue. Note the tan Saturn at the left. I suspect someone cleverly planted that car the morning of the race, then used it to get back to the start/finish line. I bet they stopped at the Waffle House and had a leisurely breakfast of crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, french toast smothered in syrup and a hot cup of coffee.
(Note to self: research drop off locations for car in preparation for the 2012 Parkway Half Marathon.)
The Saturn was off. Mmmmm, the thought of crisp bacon reinvigorated me and provided internal encouragement to finish.
It's gettin' warm; time to take my beanie off.
This is what the halfway point looks like. Can you see the excitement in my expression?
Now I'm putting my left foot in front on my right. It's a repeating pattern you see.
Now back under Sunrise Avenue on the return trip.
There were packs of dogs on the trail. I think they were used to 'encourage' the back markers to pick up their pace. They all gave me a hard look as I passed. Some of the dogs had foam in the corners of their mouths.
Now under the second Sunrise Avenue bridge, the sun was at my back, the finish line of the race was in front of me. My car was in that direction too. Oh Electra Blue, with your comfortable seats and air conditioning, I hear you calling me. Soon we will be reunited.
I'll just keep on putting one foot in front of the other.
The OFFICIAL RACE VEHICLE.
The official race emergency response vehicle.
The official race course porta potty's in the distance. Official course cheerleaders are in the foreground.
Diana and Kela approach.
Diana taking a picture of me taking a picture of Diana take a picture...
Diana blinked first.
My occasional Saturday walking buddies Erin and Mary Lo approach. "Go ladies go. You're almost half way there!"
I think they were surprised that I was still in the race and competing.
I saw a unicorn here. (Reference picture #7 comments.)
"The miracle isn't that I Finished... The miracle is I had the courage to start"
I was inspired.
Mile marker 8; I double-checked it against the yellow spray paint on the asphalt Eight? Check. I must be at mile eight.
Full-auto pic.
"The greatest pleasure in life, is doing the things people say we cannot do"
I was inspired.
"Hello Cheeser's? Yes, I'd like twenty hot wings, a large order of chicken fettuccine alfredo, extra chicken and a two liter of Cherry Coke delivered to William Pond Park."
...
"Thirty minutes. No, no, make it at least an hour."
...
"Uh-huh. Ok. No, I don't know the address, it's a park. Just deliver it to the park."
...
"Huh? Why? All right, all right. Just cancel the order. Do you know the number to Mountain Mike's?"
...
"Hello? Hello"
Mile marker nine.
Nine miles! That means if have 4.1 MORE miles to go. Now I have achieved the appropriate level of concern.
Beanie back on for sun protection. Going bald has its downsides--scalp sunburn is a bitch.
Mile marker ten.
The circular concrete structure in the distance looked interesting. I have no idea of its purpose. Tell me if you know what it is used for or does. (This just in: Could have or still may be used as a survey tower or a small pump house. Thanks Sean for the info.)
This is the best smile I can come up with at this point.
I'm sure I saw Bigfoot in these trees. (Again, reference picture #7 comments.)
Mile marker eleven.
This sign reads, "Danger Electric Fence." Seriously, what need requires an electric fence between a park and an elementary school.
A wild turkey was not impressed with my life and death struggle with the trail. She turned her back on me disrespectfully and walked into the three covering.
Mile marker twelve. Mile marker two for the 5K. Or is it Kilometer2 for the 5K? I'm confused.
Here's how the internal dialog then went: "Stop trying to make this a high level, cerebral exercise in logic and metacognition-thinking. This is a brain stem level event--legs, arms, lungs, heart, brain stem. Keep it simple John. Keep it simple."
This picture was photoshopped. The shading on my face and shirt were added effects. The trees were done post production.
The gentleman to the left of the trail is 84 years young. See that corner to the right? By the time I was through that corner he was out of sight and past the next bend in the trail.
It's been a humbling experience. Worthwhile, but humbling.
Mile marker thirteen. Only a tenth of a mile to go to the finish. I think I'll make it.
Mariachi's in the park area greeting me as I finish.
Here is the finisher medal. It's hefty and almost 3" by 3".
Would I do it again? Absolutely!
So how do they accurately time all those hundreds (or in larger races, thousands) of participants? Each runner, walker, stumbler is given a unique passive radio frequency ID (RFID) tag that is captured in time as it passes over the start and finish lines. My unofficial time to complete the race was three hours and fifty-one minutes. I'm happy with the 3.4 mph pace I kept up. Next half marathon I'll target a 3.5 mph pace, or even better.
Thanks for reading, now get out there and walk!
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