portland marathon entry

We finished the marathon. I won’t run a marathon for a long time. My dad won’t walk for a long time.  Here are the marathon chronicles.

3 months ago: My mother decides it would be a good idea for us to run a marathon together as a family. My dad and I object. She makes us register nevertheless.

2 months, 24 days before marathon: My mother tears some tendon somewhere in my ankle. With that come tears. Her marathon training is officially finished.  My father and I make the decision to continue.

dinner the night before: I have a terrible headache, which was caused by the lack of caffeine in my daily diet. This obviously was the wrong day to quit drinking coffee.

midnight, the morning of marathon day: I watch TV to fall asleep. News of Marion Jones’ doping confessions spurs a last minute Google search on what viable doping alternatives might be for us. I decide to run this marathon undoped.

3am: My neighbor is throwing party, which seems to be going well. Since I am sleeping next to the window, I get to partake in his party without actually having a good time at all. As it turns out later (5am) he managed to lock out his cat, which was resolved by my mother climbing onto the roof to open my neighbor’s window and let the cat back in.

4am: After sleeping for about 15 minutes, I get woken up by my father asking if I have ketchup somewhere. Apparently my mother had sent him to the fridge to eat some pasta. She did, however, make it very clear that he’s normally not allowed to visit the fridge in the middle of the night. I partake in the pasta eating with my eyes closed, which is fairly standard procedure for a guy named Mario.

5:30am: My mother wakes up to begin checking the weather on a plethora of websites. Learning that wetter.de and weather.com show slightly different weather projections, results into her waking me to find the local forecast on TV.  The difference between a 10% and 15% chance of precipitation apparently could be a total game changer.

6am: I get up. Unlike my dad, I am not shaving today. We’re going to run this marathon. Based on the concept of hope.

the marathon: We finish the marathon in 4:35. My father ran the second half of the marathon with cramps in his legs. Him finishing the marathon was a heroic act to say the least. So was Jen’s ability to spend 4:35 with my very worried mother, who at mile 13 tried to chase down my father with Jen’s latte and a handful of muscle relaxer pills and ended with her greeting us with a six-pack of PBR at the finish line. Fortunately, we were able to convince my mother to keep the beers in her bag, as neither my father or I would have really appreciated to be arrested at the finish line.

The family marathon weekend is over.