Marathon #21-4/18/10

There's a strange kind of euphoria that sets in when I finish a marathon. Strange because I'm always utterly exhausted, and usually pretty sore. I don't know if it's the endorphins- those pain-blocking chemicals released during exercise- or just relief at being finished with something that is completely taxing, both mentally and physically. Doesn't matter. I'm gonna do the "airplane swoop" in the final straightaway regardless.

There was a band playing at the finish line, rather than an announcer calling out our names as we came across. I didn't care- I sang right along with a Celtic/Zydeco cover of "Hey, Hey, What Can I Do?" (Of all the songs to give a Chieftains meets Clifton Chenier treatment...) Then, it took me five minutes, and five hip cramps, to put my warm-up pants back on. S'all good, Bruh- I may have come up with five new, advanced yoga poses. "Now, who else can hold 'The Screaming Salamander' for sixty seconds?"

You also get to eat like Biblical locusts- another possible cause of Temporary Post-Marathon Insanely Happy-ness. I polished off a foot-long meatball grinder, with jalapenos and provolone, in about ten minutes. That's fifty seconds per inch. We're talking Professional Eating Tour type numbers here. If Kobayashi wants to regain his Coney Dog-eating title this Fourth of July, he should run a marathon that morning.

I would have to say, however, that the real reason for my "Marathoner's High," is probably just that I finished the damned thing. I ran twenty-six miles, which is never a sure deal, no matter how well prepared I am- and I did not feel that I was ready for this one. I had been sick a lot this Winter and Spring, and had even fizzled out on my last long run due to The Return of the Creeping Crud. I had a plan that I thought might get me through, and it did. I finished with my best marathon time in four years- and on a difficult course.

It's now about six hours since I finished, and I'm still buzzing. I'm about as far from needing a nap as Radiohead is from reggae. But I don't have any plans, either. Just going to read the Sunday paper, and rebuild my massacred musculature. Eat, eat, eat. Or, at least I will as soon as I get over the hiccups I kick-started by eating that grinder.

Thanks for reading.