Sunday was the Vermont City Marathon, the race I gamely signed up for last November 1st, the day that registration opened. I was scheduled to run 6 miles, and I had friends who running so I figured, why not put on the bib and run the beginning of the race?
I have to say, race weekend is much more relaxing when you're not racing. I went to the Expo on Friday afternoon to pick up my race packet, peruse the vendors and take note of everyone else's jitters. Saturday passed without much concern, some gardening, some decent attempts at eating nutritious meals. I intentionally did not fasten the timing chip to my shoe to avoid a "DNF" next to my name. Actually, I'm not sure if DNFs appear in the paper the next day, but all the same -- I'd rather register a NIF, "No Intention to Finish." I packed up a small bag, laid out my race clothes, set the alarm clock -- all normal pre-race stuff, but without anxiety or wonderment about how the day would unfold. I wonder if it's possible to channel this feeling as a zen-like state in future races?
Race day was cool and rainy, but not bad for running just a little too soggy. (All due credit to the real racers: it turned from soggy to pretty darn hot and sunny by midday, and probably not fun.) I squeezed myself in among the 4:30 pace group and spent the time before the gun scanning feet for timing chips. How many people around me are really running, and how many are out for just a few miles? I wanted to know. I was behind one woman who wore an astonishing amount of makeup and jewelry but I could get a look at her bib or her shoes. I was relieved when she waved to someone and the tell-tale bracelet of a relay team was on her wrist. I don't remember feeling this judgemental of other runners when I was really intending to run the race.
Ok, so I ran the first relay leg (3.1 miles) and ran the next three miles, all at pretty good pace for me (11:00 miles.) Per Jessica's instructions, I did not overextend myself and risk injury, I slowed to walk/jog and reeled in a few more miles till I was at the second relay exchange zone, conveniently close to where I could drop out of the race and meet up with friends around Mile 9.
The relay zones are very carefully organized and managed: the marathoners are channeled in one direction so as not to be slowed or interfered with, and the relay runners are directed into a scene of mass chaos where they hope to find their teammates and handoff their timing chip. I was wearing a marathon bib, but I wanted to get out of the marathoners' way so I headed into the relay lane. The race volunteers did their jobs, bless their hearts, by trying to get me back into the marathoners' lane. I kept waving them off, and they kept trying to steer me to the left. I was trying to be inconspicuous, but in fact drew more attention from those eagle-eyed volunteers than I ever expected:
Volunteer: "You want to move over to this lane, as soon you're able."
Me: "No it's ok - I'm fine."
Volunteer: "Thru runners over this way!" (Boisterous pointing)
Me: "Really, it's ok - I'm dropping out here."
Volunteer: "Are you ok? Do you need assistance?!"
Now, I'm trying to not disrupt anyone's path, and I'm trying to quietly drop out, and now I have visions of this earnest volunteer summoning the medical team and the staff of the nearby Police Department. And how do I quickly communicate that there's nothing to see hear without being snippy of dramatic? I smiled and waved and cheerfully told, "Everything's great, I'm done here!" He gave me a funny look as if to say, 'Do you get what's going on here today?' Why yes I do get it: RunVermont and 30,000 spectators came out to watch me run a 15K, and even provided water tables with Gatorade.
Thank you, Burlington!
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