A couple of months ago I decided it would be fun to run in the 26.2 mile Los Angeles Marathon. This is my story.
My Arrival- I took the metro rail to downtown and I get to the start line sometime after 8 o'clock. I hate getting up early and today is no exception. I am hardly excited except for the fact that my race bib says "Thunder Legs" on it. It turns out that whatever name you register with is the name they put on your bib. That name would come back to haunt me later. After stretching for a whole 5 minutes I make my way down to the start line. There are piles of sweaters and thrash everywhere but no people. I keep walking and some lady starts yelling at me to run. I hardly pay any attention to her and assume that she is just another crazy cracked out homeless bitch begging for change in LA. After a few minutes I begin to realize that the race has already started and that I am bringing up the ass end of this marathon. Thunder Legs Marathon has officially started.
Mile 1- This was a bad idea. I regret telling so many people that I was going to run in this marathon because that will make it very difficult to bitch out later. Despite my late start I focus on keeping a slow and steady pace.
Mile 2- I need water! Where the fuck is the water? I finally see the first water station and I begin to run faster. I run by and snatch a cup of water without breaking stride. I almost get some of the water into my mouth. I'm enjoying myself for the time being and my pace has picked up. I've caught up to the bulk of the other runners and I'm really starting to pick up my pace. I had not been running much in the last two weeks leading up to the race because of foot and knee problems but I'm holding up great so far. Only 24.2 more miles to go.
Mile 3- This was a great idea! There are people lined up on the street cheering "Go Thunder Legs!" I decide that next year I'll enter as "Suck My Balls" so people will be saying "Go Suck My Balls!"
Mile 4- I am a God. I am clearly the best runner in this field and will probably shatter the world record for the fastest marathon. I've passed thousands of people so far and I feel great.
Mile 5- More of the same. I am the complete athlete and everyone else is only here to reaffirm this obvious truth.
Mile 6- I'm very hungry now and the only thing I've had during the race is a piece of orange. As I'm running someone holds out a doughnut. I grab it. I eat it. It is delicious.
Mile 7- I've passed thousands of people now since the race started and I am at my peak. I pull out the IPod so I can rock out with my cock out.
Mile 8- I notice that my sock on my right foot feels awkward, like the corner of the sock is bunched up against my toe. It's annoying but I'm not going to stop and fix it. The cheers from the crowd keep me going. People love Thunder Legs! I wave to my fans and drink more of the delicious Gatorade that they have brought for me as their tribute.
Mile 9- I'm in uncharted territory now. Most of my long practice runs were about 8 miles. I'm feeling a little tired but I'm still moving at a great pace.
Mile 10- Double digits! Slowing down a little bit. I think I can run a solid 22 miles before I have to stop and walk. It's getting hot though and my knees are starting to hurt. I'm not a god anymore but I am still god like.
Mile 11- I am now a cripple. My hips cramp up and it feels like two ice picks have been jammed into the top of my legs. I can barely walk. Maybe I should have stretched for more than 5 minutes before starting the race. The thunder is now gone. I begin to walk and simultaneously begin trying to stretch my legs out to get them working again. On top of that the sock on my right foot is even more annoying than before so I decide to rearrange it to make it more comfortable. When I peel my sock off I uncover the two biggest blisters ever created. I can't look at it for more than a few seconds because I'm afraid it might start talking to me. I turn my sock inside-out and put my shoe back on. I begin to walk.
Mile 12- This part was kind of like surviving a plane crash but being lost in the wilderness. I had a very long way to go and I was in horrible shape. I had run the first 11 miles in about 90 minutes. It would take me over 6 hours to complete the last 15 miles. Here it goes.
Mile 13- Every step I take is a baby step. I make a feeble attempt to run that lasts about 20 feet.
Mile 14- I am a very miserable person right now. My hips are on fire. My feet are completely blistered, and my right knee feels like one of the goodfellas just smashed it with a baseball bat. I look to my right and I see the Staples Center. This is one of the stops on the metro rail that brought me here. I could walk one block over, catch the rail, and be home sitting in a tub of ice in 20 minutes. I decide that the pain is worth not having to explain to everyone I know why I could not make it past mile 15.
Mile 15- I should have taken the metro rail. Fuck what people think.
Mile 16- Everyone that I passed in the beginning of the race has now left me in their smug dust. An 11 year old girl, a 90 year old man, a 300 pound behemoth, everyone is racing by and there is nothing I can do. I was waiting for the kid with the prosthetic leg from Superbad to run by me but he never came.
Mile 17- I’m pretty much delirious by this point. I have sweated off my sun block and my skin is turning a shade of red that I didn’t know existed. I think I see vultures circling overhead, they can sense the end is near. I press on.
Mile 18- “Where’s the thunder Thunder Legs?” huhuhuhuh duh! Thunder Legs was a fun name when I actually had use of my legs. Now I am a target for ridicule.
Mile 19- Someone was passing out ice-pops. I take two and wrap them to my knee with my ace bandage. After they melt I devour the sugary syrup. Mmmmm cherry!
Mile 20- I hear some idiot say “We’re almost there!” No. We are not almost anywhere. There are 6.2 painful miles left and I can barely walk.
Mile 21- I walk past a Carl’s Jr. I consider stopping in for a western bacon cheeseburger but I’m afraid that if I sit down I will never get up.
Mile 22- The race begins to look like the night of the living dead. People are walking at a zombie like pace and with the same soulless expression on their faces.
Mile 23- I hobble past a line of cots where the sick and dying are being treated by paramedics. I envy the dead.
Mile 24- The sun is getting low in the sky and sections of the course have been opened up to car traffic. I’ve been stopping to rest my knee. It feels like it will explode at any moment.
Mile 25- We’re almost there.
Mile 26- Still not worth it.
Mile 26.2- I try to run to the finish line so I don’t look like a complete bitch in front of the thousands of people lining the streets. I can’t. As I stagger across the finish line I receive my medal and a paramedic asks me if I’m ok. To qoute Marcellus Wallace from Pulp Fiction: "Naw man I'm pretty fuckin' far from ok". The main difference was that my ass was sore from a grueling run, not the anal pillaging that was delivered by a cop and pawn store owner. Now that the race is over I get to walk three blocks to the metro rail and go home. I go to my grandpa’s house. I go straight to the shower and sit on the old people stool that he has in the shower until the hot water runs out. I crawl into bed and sleep for about 17 hours. I have just completed my first and last marathon.