I realized before I left my hotel this morning that this would be my 365th marathon. So every day for a year of my life I’ve gotten up and walked to a marathon’s start line. This weighed heavily on me throughout the race, both as an unearned privilege and a crazy hobby.
Some marathons are races and some are runs. A race is when you push and try and really do something — break a PR, hit a new milestone, get a Boston Qualifier, or even just beat some guy dressed as the Eiffel Tower (the latter didn’t happen for me during my food poisoned Chicago Marathon 2010 — that damn monument crushed me). A run is when the pace kinda falls off, and it’s just a question of being out there and getting it done. The Disneyland Paris trifecta were runs — I wasn’t going for times per se, more hoping to maximize photo opps. Which I guess is a form of racing… hmmm… bad example.
My failed sub-3 hour quest were “races” that didn’t pan out. Those are fine examples of races I think.
Today was near perfect “race” weather — 50-ish at the start, a light breeze, a bit of a chill waiting at the start, and mostly overcast skies. Even so, I wasn’t sure I could pull anything off. When I saw the starting boxes offered a pristine logo for a 3:!5 pace and some Charlie Brown Christmas Tree styled scribble for the 3:30, I felt like I owed it to the ol’ Blockhead to go with the “underdog” 3:30. I didn’t think I’d be racing. I’d run. I very easily could wind up slower than 3:30 but it seemed a good compromise.
In the opening kilometers, I felt pretty great, happy to be moving, thinking, “huh… maybe I will race….” I passed the 3:15 pace group and thought, “yeah, maybe this is a good day to race.” But by the 5th kilometer marker, there was a bit of an uphill and, well, I suck at hills. Flat I can run all day. But throw in an uphill of ANY incline… even a degree or two… and I fold like I’m playing poker (that simile only makes sense if you know I’m a lousy, lousy poker player).
So as the 3:15 pace group passed me and then pulled farther and farther away, I realized today was NOT going to be a race day. My inner monologue included a long conversation between mind and body, but here’s an abridged version:
MIND: C’mon! We can do this! Let’s race! We’re in Belgium. Weeeeeeeeee!
BODY: Listen, bub. That’s all well and good. And we’re loving the waffles. And these new Hulk shoes are doing a-okay.
MIND: Hooray! Running is the best!
BODY: Settle down, pal. Seriously. We’ve got a headache. This sinus infection thing–
MIND: Endorphins! Endorphins! ENDORPHINS!
BODY: Good gravy, Marie! Take it down a notch. Look, we’re going to try. We’re going to do our best. But it’s not looking like a race day, sport. You push too hard and, well, there’s gonna be a problem, capiche?
MIND: Hey, how many songs can you think of with the word, “running” in it? “Running on empty,” “Born to run,” “Run Devil Run,” um…
BODY: Are you even listening–?
MIND: “Let the River Run!”
Anyway, long story short, I ran the Brussels Marathon. Here’s some photos along the way with a few bits of commentary here and there:
Pre-Race Sunrise:
Check out this amazing Chiquita Playland for the Kids at the Chiquita 1K Run:
That’s, wait for it, bananas!
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Faster than a slowly-moving tram car!
Well, as fast as a slowl- moving tram car!
Phooey. Slower than a slowly-moving tram car!
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A piper.
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I don’t know what this sign means. It was as we entered a long stretch that felt parkland-y. Maybe it means not development? For one brief delirious moment I thought it might mean, “Hey, if you’re a Transforming Building a la that scene in ‘Big,’ you’re not welcome here. I know the EU is all about diversity and protecting minorities but, ya know, we’re not always consistent.”
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The Bandundu Water Jazz Band and a real band beside it.
I stopped for photos but didn’t quite capture the animals playing their instruments in the fountain. So here’s a stock image:
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I missed the first road sign… but this was my Waterloo.
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Look a the adorable train crossing sign. I choo-choo! choose you to post here!
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This man has a squeeze box. It goes in and out and in and out.
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The full and half marathon routes merged at the 37K mark… so 5K of shared space to the end.
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Many, many pipers!
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For the life of me, I cannot parse this shirt. I have a college degree in Communications Studies and I got nothing.
Yet when I googled it, it’s a quote by Jules Henri Poincaré. The full quote is apparently:
“Thinking must never submit itself, neither to a dogma, nor to a party, nor to a passion, nor to an interest, nor to a preconceived idea, nor to whatever it may be, if not to facts themselves, because, for it, to submit would be to cease to be.”
Man. That’s some seriously esoteric running wear.
My “Kevin” shirt was a hit with the crowd who would occasionally see it, laugh, smile and shout, “Allez, Kevin!” I guess the Europeans aren’t as used to seeing egotistical shirts. But I didn’t hear anybody shout at this guy, “Allez, Poincaré! Allez!”
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We rounded back to the start line around the 38th KM.
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And no marathon in Brussels would BE through Brussels if we didn’t hit Grand Place!
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The final stretch…
… and Fin.
I think I was 143rd. I didn’t get the text alerts I signed up for to get my results and they haven’t posted anything on their website. But it wound up being a 3:22/3:23 day I think. A really strong run to be sure. But a run nonetheless.
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A few post-race bonus shots — after a shower and “frit” lunch, I had planned on visiting the Belgisch Stripcentrum, or Belgium Comic Strip Museum. It wasn’t the 10 euro admission that dissuaded me from entering. I just wasn’t in the mood to read. I know that’s ridiculous on a number of levels — how much reading could there be at a comic strip museum (answer: way more than you’d think). While Belgium’s comic contributions are legendary, from Tin Tin to the Smurfs to all kinds of other art and characters, I just wasn’t feeling a museum. I did however avail myself of the freebie sculptures outside and in the foyer:
