Similar to yesterday, photos are being persnickety in uploading from my phone. I’ll add pics later but in the meantime… [REVISION NOTE: Most photos have been uploaded as of April 25, 2016]
Let’s begin this post sorta in medias res, yes? I’m at the OKC airport waiting to board my flight, stewing. Rarely have I had a race experience turn so precipitously, so profoundly 180 degrees, as I did today at the OKC Memorial Marathon. But more on that in a moment. Let’s first flash back to yesterday to see how I got here:
Parking around the Cox Convention Center was a bit of a scalpers paradise. Lots were charging $8, $10, $15 for cars. I stopped at a cupcake store across the street and wandered inside to be “tempted” and to “consider for later” before dashing to the expo. With ten minutes to spare, I grabbed my bib and took a quick free pic… Once again forgetting my sunglasses and hating the Windows onto my soul. But I loved the balloon work they did!
A quick pizza buffet dinner later, I wound up at my evening’s murder hotel – Travelers Inn out by the airport. It was a dive… But had an amazing bar/club adjacent.
And this the ONE TIME I failed to pack my deerstalker hat and pipe…
I was only ten minutes from the start line but wanted to be there for the sunrise service and opening ceremony memorials. It was the reason I was running… Or at least part of the reason. Let’s be honest, it’s a weekend. I’d most likely be running anyway. Still…
Arriving at the Oklahoma City Memorial, I wasn’t sure how to act. With Maroon Five blaring amidst the illuminated chairs for the 168 who died in the bombing of April 19, 1995, I couldn’t decide if I should be somber, reflective, jubilant, celebratory. I think the right choice was a combination of all those and more.
I’m not an overtly religious man but I was glad to at least witness the dawn service at the Survivor Tree. I was deeply moved by the monument and the overall vibe of respect and peace of the place, Adam Levine and Co notwithstanding.
Amidst the corrals, we held a 168 second moment of silence that was incredibly powerful and humbling. One of the speakers spoke of how the bombing was the darkest hour and the finest moment for Oklahoma City, where tragedy gave way to the best in humanity. That sort of analysis and viewpoint plays directly to my sentimental soft spot in my Grinchian cynic’s heart.
Supposedly there were 24,818 runners across all events, 62% female, and 11,000 in the marathon. There were 3600 volunteers on the course. And in that mass of people, I bumped into somebody I’ve seen at other races. Cade and I grabbed a quick photo at the starting line but I felt confident he’d blow past me before too long.
With a final countdown we were off… And I have to say I found the course mostly enjoyable. I felt like the memorial and downtown featured highlights of the city, and the turn along the waterfront, while windy, was a fine example of providing some variation to views during 26.2 miles. I was also quite pleased to see local neighborhoods embracing their unique placements along the route and offering some local flavor and color.
Highlights for me included this guy dressed as Walker, Texas Ranger — was it a costume? Puppet? Dream? Whatever, it’s quite possibly the best thing I’ve seen along a marathon route.
The Gorilla Hill had a giant inflatable ape and the entire neighborhood all bedecked in banana costumes handing out food and beverages.
The random cow and chicken…
The pink flamingo yard which may or may not have been a social commentary on the neighbor’s American flag yard.
The giant Braum’s milk bottle which I would later learn was a listed item on RoadsideAmerica.com.
As for the running itself, I felt really good for the first 10-12 miles. And then the wheels came off – I kinda had an emotional breakdown and a physical hiccup due to my lingering ankle soreness flaring up. The ankle wasn’t awful but it was tweaking like an under caffeinated Diet Coke fiend… Of this I know intimately. I must have had a noticeable hitch in my step as spectators kept telling me to push through the cramps.
As I think I said previously, the winds picked up markedly and they had been forecast to only get stronger as the day wore on. You’d think after all the races I’ve done that I would know how to draft off other runners and let them shield me a bit from the wind. I understand the theory behind drafting thanks to two packets of sugar and Nicole Kidman’s bare thigh (see 1990’s Days of Thunder… No, really. I know it’s just Top Gun with race cars but…). However, I am unable to put theory into practice. Some day maybe.
Long story short, though, I persevered. I frittered and limped away my 3:15 pace and wound up with a 3:27:22. Here’s the traditional medal shot:
My review of the race for the 26.2 miles was that it was pretty good. I was struck by the greater meaning of the event and found the memorial aspect handled quite well. But unfortunately the finish line was nothing short of a fiasco.
Jumping forward I didn’t even bother trying to photo document my frustrations. But this is the message I tapped out to the Race Director on my walk back to my car:
I’ve run more than a few marathons before running yours today. I enjoyed a lot of it but your finish line organization ranks amongst the worst I’ve ever seen. I finished the marathon around 3:30 and the lines for food and beverage were unmanageable. After waiting in line for ten minutes without moving, I gave up. The Carl’s Jr. Burgers looked good but there was no means for me to get one. The chocolate milk also looked good but alas there was no way for me to get one of those either. I’ve given up and am walking to my car hoping to find a place to grab some water and food after traversing 26.2 miles of your city. I had enjoyed the course, the spectators, the reason for running. But the finish line fiasco has left me feeling empty both physically and emotionally. What a huge disappointment.
Basically, I ran a marathon and couldn’t get food to replenish energy or water to rehydrate. The runners, staff, and experience turned rude and nasty, with people cutting every which way and me therefore left never making any progress toward the finisher food and beverages. As I saw half marathoners scarfing down two burgers at a time, I finally gave up. Rarely has a race experience turned so negative in such a short span of time. I went from being pretty impressed to pretty P.O.’d. If someone were to ask me if they should run this race, I’d say truthfully that the race itself is decent but one should skip the finish line festivities entirely; to subject oneself to the finish fest is little more than a recipe for disappointment, regret, and anger.
I tried to rally to catch a few RoadsideAmerica attractions but my heart simply wasn’t in it. Oh, sure… I still went to see the Oklahoma Central University bronze Miss America statues.
And I wandered over to Flaming Lips Alley, named for native sons who deserve a better stretch of road in Bricktown.
And to complete my Nicole Kidman referents, I visited the monument to the April 22, 1889, land rush which served as Far and Away’s third act inspiration.
But I was stewing, steaming, and bubbling with anger and resentment from the finish. Even now as I sit in the OKC airport I’m stewing. And that’s where you came in.
What tomorrow holds is anyone’s guess.