Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, you’ll have a few laughs…
The Palm Beaches Marathon was less chuckle more buckle. Less ha-ha funny, more heat stroke delusional giggle.
I knew it was going to be hot and humid when I checked my phone in the AM… but even though I’m a Floridian I wasn’t really ready for this level of direct sun and sense of swimming through the water logged air.
It was a bad run. There’s no other way to describe it. I had hoped to have a really solid enjoyable run this weekend but mother nature and Kevin nature combined to put me through the wringer… which was necessary as I was dripping with perspiration and repeated water cups dumped over my head pretty much from the word go.
My phone was so pummeled by the elements that I couldn’t unlock it to open my camera for much of the race. Which may be all for the best as I was looking pretty dire through a good deal of it. I had started well enough but it was all downhill figuratively if not literally as the sun rose and the temperatures climbed and the salt left my body as if I were an extra on that first aired episode of Star Trek (super nerdy reference y’all — here’s a link!).
This being Florida it was a flat course and people said they had cut the bridge this year so there really wasn’t anything even approximating a hill. Thank goodness as I had enough problems just putting one foot in front of the other on a level surface; I can’t imagine the toll it would’ve taken had I had to go up and down and up and down.
I was able to get a few photos around the split. As the 10k and half-marathoners continued on their route to the finish, we marathoners took a right and headed out for our remaining 13.1 mileage. It got very, very quiet. The crowds thinned out to the point where for long stretches I didn’t see anybody until the horizon. Sometimes I’d pass a lonely traffic cop manning a desolate intersection blocking non-existent traffic from coming into our lanes. There were funny themed water stations (a construction crew with signs “warning” there was “water on the road;” a super hero stopover, etc) and the volunteers were doing their best to keep us hydrated. But the miles dragged on and on.
I did have a surreal and funny moment that I would later post to social media. One of the few spectators along the way did cheer me on by shouting, “You look like Rob Lowe!” It was such a weird and funny non-sequitur that I had to laugh, even though I was near faint and cursing Apollo, the Mayans, and any other sun gods I could remember in my head. If it was a sincere comment, I was flattered on my behalf but a little offended on Mr. Lowe’s.
The final 6 miles were a blur of salt sweat dripping into my eyes, mirages, curses, tears, and lots and lots of walking. It was just… a grind. To make matters a little worse, I was wearing my newly purchased Marathon Globetrotters running shirt. I was depressed upon receipt of it because the size Medium fit more like a tent for four. But the organization pointed me to the sizing chart they were using and honestly it was smaller than the numbers they had listed for a medium. I don’t know if this group is run by Titans or Giants but let me just say I’m not a small man girth-wise and I already felt like I was drowning in this shirt even before the humidity made me feel like I was bobbing in the ocean currents.
Eventually, long after I had hoped to be done, I crossed the finish line. Despite being drenched, I felt parched and no amount of water could quench my thirst. But I tried. Oh, how I tried.
The race organizers had promised the World’s Biggest Brunch at the finish with free mimosas and all the brunch-tastic fixings you could imagine. I never saw any mimosas though in my finish line state I suspect half a glass would’ve put me six feet under the sand. But the brunch itself was… underwhelming. I assume we have different definitions for what constitutes the world’s biggest brunch. I imagined a french speaking candelabra dancing about as bottles of champagne exploded in a Busby Berkeley style musical number, that if I had dietary questions I could ask the dishes, and that there’d be an abundance of grey stuff as I hear it’s delicious.
I call BS on this brunch. What? I’m just saying it was “Bullsh!t Small.”
By the way, here’s the weather at the finish.
And this was at 10:16 AM. There were still marathoners out on the course. I was just happy to have made it out alive.
I said this last weekend about Space Coast… there’s always next weekend. Maybe Mississippi will be my place to race well.
In the meantime… here’s a picture of hipster Santa Claus checking his notifications to see who’s naughty or nice.
