It’s 4:30 a.m. -- the repetitive buzz of my phone alarm drags me from my sleep. I look at the clock and begin to prepare myself. I.D.: check. Energy goo: check. Poncho in case it rains: check. Watch, iPod, bib number: check. Panic?
It’s the day of the Los Angeles marathon, but for some reason I feel calm.
My mom stumbles from the other bed, and in near silence we prepare. The shuttle to the starting line leaves at 5:30 a.m. My dad says a muffled “good luck” before drifting off into a deep slumber.
Thanks, Dad.
Dodger Stadium appears after an hour of infamous Los Angeles traffic and thousands of people mill around the parking lot. It’s a cloudy day, 44 degrees Fahrenheit, forecasted to rain, breezy and dark.
Endless lines stretch before the port-a-potties. Some people have given up and just found a tree to pee behind. The person in the stall in front of me went in and never came out.
My mom and I huddle in foil space blankets to escape the wind. As the first rays of sunlight peek over the hillside, the announcer’s voice blares obnoxiously through the speakers. It’s time to put my game face on.
Pause. Rewind. Let me back up for a second and give you some context. I didn’t train for this marathon. It was a New Year’s resolution gone horribly wrong, and as March 18 crept steadily closer, I pretty much gave up on any kind of preparation. One week was not enough to kick butt into shape anyway. I crossed my fingers and told my friend Sarah, “I’m just gonna wing it.”
Great attitude, Kristen. You’re about to “wing” 26.2 miles. Let’s see if you survive.
Starting line:
The gunshot smacks my ears and we’re off! Not really. The mass of people pushing forward moves at a shuffle, too squished together to go much faster. The banner approaches, and the crowd gradually thins. My mom and I hold hands and cross the line together. I smile and tell her bye before letting go and taking off.
Mile One:
Strip off my excess clothing and add it to the weird conglomeration of ponchos, trash bags and hideous thrift store sweaters accumulating alongside the course. This is happening. I’m terrified and elated.
Mile Two:
Water station. Unnecessary.
Mile Three:
Chinatown. I was here yesterday, eating lunch and acting like a tourist. Today the pushy vendors can’t catch me.
Mile Four:
Downhill, thank god, past Olvera Street and into Little Tokyo. Duck and weave. Winding my way through people. Why is there a 6-year-old passing me?
Mile Five:
Another water station. All right, I’ll take some … and spill it all over myself. The volunteers are the best people in my life at the moment. They’re so excited to stand outside in the cold and hand out water that I absorb their enthusiasm. This is why I run: for the people.
Mile Six:
The clouds clear. It’s way too hot.
Mile Seven:
This is just a normal workout. Multiplied by three.
Mile Nine:
Stop counting. Just go.
Mile 10:
Hollywood Boulevard. The Pantages and El Capitan Theatres. This is awesome, running straight down the middle of the street surrounded by skyscrapers. Usually I’m in a car, yelling way too loudly at the other drivers to appreciate the urban scenery.
Mile 12:
There are literally little kids passing me all over the place. Is that even allowed?
Mile 13:
1 hour 52 minutes. You’ve done this before, now do it again. Please don’t cry.
Mile 14:
Breakfast was nearly five hours ago. Random people are handing out food alongside the road. I’m pretty sure this is some health code violation, but I’m starving.
Mile 15:
Beverly Hills and Rodeo Drive. A cold wind blows straight up the road. I latch onto a guy going my pace, using him to break a path. This creeps him out, so I stop.
Mile 18:
What happened to the last three miles?
Mile 19:
A kid holds a sign that says, “You’re NOT almost there.” I almost punch him in the face. Literally. His smart-aleck sign makes me so mad that I lose the next few miles.
Mile 21:
Why did the veterans build their administration building on a hill? Phoenix is flat. What is this nonsense?
Mile 22:
Free beer. Awesome! That would make me puke, but it’s hilarious. Also, a church group is blasting dubstep. My life is complete.
Mile 23:
Follow that girl in pink. Don’t let her beat you. I can feel a sharp pain shooting through my right foot and calf with each step. Ignore it. Three miles is nothing.
Mile 24:
My pace lags. Times stretches out. This is the longest three miles of my life.
Mile 25:
The girl in pink is crying, talking to her coach on the phone. You’re almost there, girl. We’re almost done.
Mile 26:
Pacific Coast Highway. A blast of ocean wind hits me. I scream. The finish is right there. Suck it up. Sprint. So many people are cheering and waving signs.
Finish:
4 hours and 9 minutes. There’s the girl in pink. I tell her she did a great job. People are collapsed on the ground everywhere curled up among the food handed out at the end, too tired to eat. It’s like I’m on a conveyor belt, passing all these people. I can’t stop moving, so I keep going.
I’ll be honest, running is my sport of choice. I was a runner in high school: cross-country, distance track and hurdles. This was more than a year ago, but I guess I can’t entirely claim to have begun this endeavor completely devoid of leg muscle.
I couldn’t walk afterward and my friends called me “grandma,” but I’m exceptionally glad that I did it. This race reinforced everything I love about running.
When I run, I see things that I would miss if I were on a bike or in a car. My entire perspective is changed, especially about other people. Almost everyone I see is wearing shirts for charity organizations, or they’re school groups or cancer survivors. No one is there alone, and no one is there for themselves. I certainly wasn’t. I was there for my mom, and I knew that wherever she was on the course, we were both going to finish this thing.
People always complain about how much they hate running, and they’re impressed by marathoners. But if you ever enter into a big race like this, you’ll know that it’s not hard at all. Yes, the actual moving of your legs can be challenging, but it’s mental. Running any distance is easy when every single one of the more than 25,000 people around you is rooting for you and shouting your name. I couldn’t possibly fail with them there, and I didn’t.
Reach the reporter at klhwang@asu.edu
