The Finish Line January 30, 2011

Crossing the finish line of a major race is an event that you imagine and play in your mind many times.  Often the imagined finish does not match reality.  Before the race our Fort Bend Fit coaches tell us not to look at our watches to check our finish times, since the chip will record that.  To smile, raise our arms in triumph, and take our sunglasses off so that the cameras can see our eyes.  Some people have a friend or family member near the finish line with a comb or brush to fix their hair and to make sure nothing is missing from their clothing.  After all, you only cross the finish line of your first marathon one time in your lifetime.  It is an event that will be remembered for the rest of your life and you want to give it your best shot.

This is me nearly across the finish line at the Chevron Houston Marathon on January 30th, 2011.  It was my first full marathon and I finished in 6 hr 1 min 25 sec, just 1 min 25 sec over the cutoff for an official finish. Although I got a medal, finish line photo, finisher's shirt and beer mug (BEER MUG!), I did not get an official finisher's certificate to frame and hang on my wall.  That pissed me off!  You can see that I am a little sweaty; it was in the low or mid '70s that day (January in Houston!) and quite humid due to rainfall during the night and at the start of the race.  After mile 21 or so I was downing Gatorade, dissolving Nuun tablets in my drinking water and pouring cold water over my head as much as possible.  At the finish line, the last 50 yards or so (distance seemed to expand near the finish line; I could hear it for miles but it seemed to take me a very long time to turn the last turn to actually see the finish), I had family and friends encouraging me to finish the race, to run, yelling "go Dustinator". I saw some work friends cheering me on as I turned and Z ran up to the fence to tell me I had 60 seconds to get in under the official finishing time (turns out the announcer was wrong).  It was unreal; it was the longest 30 sec of my life because it seemed to take so long to get to the finish mat, yet it went by very quickly and it was difficult to stay in the moment and experience the joy of finishing. 

I had imagined myself crossing the finish line thousands of times during my training.  FBF coaches say that imagining it in your head helps you achieve your goal in real life.  I don't think I had imagined it as it happened. I had imagined myself crying with joy as I finished; instead I had a goofy grin, was pretty calm, and was dripping with sweat rather than tears.  I had imagined myself finishing in 5 hr 45 min; I did not accomplish that. I had imagined pain or blood or utter failure. None of those happened; I was just very tired (some pain later as my muscles cooled). I greeted my family and friends behind the fence after finishing, getting my medal, and posing for a photo, then I went into the George R. Brown Convention Center to get my shirt and beer mug (BEER MUG!).  It takes about 30 min to get through all that.  The free HEB food was all gone but I knew better than to eat (based on prior experience in several half marathons).  I did get some vanilla ice cream that was very refreshing and didn't bother my stomach at all.  I had some Coke Zero in my runner's bag along with some energy bars that tasted good. By the time I got through the GRB and headed outside, ~30 min later, there were still people running or walking across the finish line, God bless them!

I have a copy of this photo and another from along the route that I will frame and hang on my office wall to remind me of my accomplishment. I have the medal (BLING!), finisher's shirt and beer mug (BEER MUG!) that I can trot out from time-to-time to relive the glory. Most of all, I have the memories that will last as long as I do.

Cool Pool at the End of the Run

I'm lucky to have a cool pool in my back yard to jump into after a run in the warm, muggy morning air of Sugar Land.  There is something quite physical about being engulfed in cooling water when I am sweat-soaked, tired and sore. It's not the same as jumping in a shower; that takes too long.  This is immediate gratification, just take off my shoes and socks, empty my pockets of anything that might be damaged by water (I sometimes carry a pocket LED flashlight for imaging those sidewalk cracks and settled-segment steps that are prevalent in some parts of our city), and walk in or jump off the diving board.  Since I usually do the pool cool after a workday morning run, I don't linger to enjoy the moment or stare into the brightening morning sky. The cats are usually out and surveying their domain for prey or a cool spot to sleep. I can hear the traffic on the local highway beyond the commercial building behind our house. People already headed off to, or coming home from, work or running errands before the day gets too hot. I plan the day ahead, grateful that I have been able to complete another training run, whatever the time or pace.  I get out of the pool and water drips from my body and soaks into my towel.  It's no longer sweat but pool water and it feels different.