I rode the metro into the heart of the city around midday, hoping to have skillfully avoided the swarms of competitors at pick-up by timing it to coincide with lunch. No dice, the line was wrapped around the National Building Museum, itself the size of a city block. I chatted the whole time with a guy I had met on the metro, whom I wish I could say I had singled out as a fellow racer using my powerful deduction skills, but the slightly worn Asics running shoes and the race printout gave him away immediately. We exited the metro and found our place at the back of the line, which as it turns out was more of a leisurely stroll in the rain as the packet pick-up was so efficient. Even so, it took 30 minutes to get my number and then I shot through the expo and back out onto the streets. I had sights to see.
First up, the FBI. I used the facebook feature "where are you" to indicate that I was at Federal Bureau of Investigations Building (even though I was only outside). Then, on to the National Mall and the White House. All the pictures I took with my hand out stretched in front of me, camera turned back at me, make it look as if I am standing in front of a blue screen. I swear, I wasn't. The best irony of this day, the protest occurring on the front lawn of #1 Pennsylvania Ave and looking out toward the Washington Monument... against "sexual mutilation" namely, circumcision. I have few opinions on this matter.
On to race day.
I again rode the metro in to downtown Washington, DC, along with my cheering squad... Ma and Pa Gilbert. I jumped off the metro one mile to early in order to get a warmup... should have checked the map, because my mile warm-up only took me three minutes. Either that, or I was ready to run REALLY fast.
Chilly, slightly breezy, but sunny and full or promise. That is if my runner-tummy would settle down. You know the one, the same condition that forces you to jog in place, stretch, and do drills while standing in line with 15,000 people at the Port-a-johns. I took care of business, checked my clothes, chugged an espresso Clif Shot, and pounced on the line. Thanks to my "seeded" number, I got to be positioned in the front coral, right behind the row of Ethiopians and Kenyans. Of course, I should have been a few more rows back, but I was going for 10-seconds of fame. And there is just something surreal to look ahead and see empty road and look behind to see the crush of thousands.
Gun went off and I got passed by 100 guys instantly. Then is it was a few ladies. Over the famous bridges and back, along the waterfront. Back around by the spectators. I was feeling okay. Still hadn't settled in to a pace, and I was still being passed by people who I should have started behind. Somewhat demoralizing to be passed so much. Whoops. I did however, stick on a group of women. I figured that I was somewhere around 15th in the amateur race. At this point, we swing by the start/finish line and sea of spectators. I spotted both Ma and Pa and I think I smiled convincingly enough for the cameras (though, not the race photographers... yikes they caught some bad ones!).
Mile 7, finally feeling in the groove. Finally! And just in time to hit a part of the course where the straightaway stretches to infinity, lined with cherry blossoms and the Potomac. Peace... and racing! I started to pass back a few of those people who had blown by me in the early miles. Either that or I had finally fallen in to my pace group. I didn't care, feeling much better, and charging up the last hill to the finish, I stretched to get in under 1:03. And I made it! The actual goal was 1:02:30. I ran 1:02:47. I call that a success.
On to race day.
I again rode the metro in to downtown Washington, DC, along with my cheering squad... Ma and Pa Gilbert. I jumped off the metro one mile to early in order to get a warmup... should have checked the map, because my mile warm-up only took me three minutes. Either that, or I was ready to run REALLY fast.
Chilly, slightly breezy, but sunny and full or promise. That is if my runner-tummy would settle down. You know the one, the same condition that forces you to jog in place, stretch, and do drills while standing in line with 15,000 people at the Port-a-johns. I took care of business, checked my clothes, chugged an espresso Clif Shot, and pounced on the line. Thanks to my "seeded" number, I got to be positioned in the front coral, right behind the row of Ethiopians and Kenyans. Of course, I should have been a few more rows back, but I was going for 10-seconds of fame. And there is just something surreal to look ahead and see empty road and look behind to see the crush of thousands.
Gun went off and I got passed by 100 guys instantly. Then is it was a few ladies. Over the famous bridges and back, along the waterfront. Back around by the spectators. I was feeling okay. Still hadn't settled in to a pace, and I was still being passed by people who I should have started behind. Somewhat demoralizing to be passed so much. Whoops. I did however, stick on a group of women. I figured that I was somewhere around 15th in the amateur race. At this point, we swing by the start/finish line and sea of spectators. I spotted both Ma and Pa and I think I smiled convincingly enough for the cameras (though, not the race photographers... yikes they caught some bad ones!).
Mile 7, finally feeling in the groove. Finally! And just in time to hit a part of the course where the straightaway stretches to infinity, lined with cherry blossoms and the Potomac. Peace... and racing! I started to pass back a few of those people who had blown by me in the early miles. Either that or I had finally fallen in to my pace group. I didn't care, feeling much better, and charging up the last hill to the finish, I stretched to get in under 1:03. And I made it! The actual goal was 1:02:30. I ran 1:02:47. I call that a success.
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