I should have written this on Sunday, but I was paralyzed from the neck down.

On Sunday I got up at 5 am, got ready, and Paul and I drove down to downtown Detroit. I got there just about in time to line up for the race. I use the term “race” in its loosest sense as I had no intention of winning or even racing anyone anywhere. Thank goodness I was only running the ½ marathon.

Apparently there were over 10,000 of us lined up along the street. When the starting bell sounded. we just stood there. It took about 10 minutes for me to get past the start line.

The day before I had gone to pick up my race packet and only then did I bother to read the literature about the race. Only then did I find out that I had to make it to a certain point by a certain time. You see, the Detroit Marathon goes across the Ambassador Bridge into Canada. You run around Windsor for a while and then you take the tunnel back to the USA. I guess they think they need the tunnel for international traffic. The race started at 7:35 and I had to make it to the entrance to the tunnel (the 8 mile mark) by 9:40 or else I would be forced to take a bus back to the US.

Perhaps I should have read the literature? Perhaps I should have, oh I don't know, done some research??? When I found out I had to make it to the bridge by 9:40 it suddenly became the most important thing in my life. Going 8 miles in 2 hours really shouldn't be a problem, but let’s be honest: I’m not much of an athlete.

So when I started 10 minutes back to begin with I was a might concerned that I wasn't going to make it to the tunnel on time. Then we began running, and I thought, "not only am I not going to make it to the tunnel, but I'm simply not going to make it." I hurt, and I had only just begun.

Yet another note to self: warm up before the race next time. Walking a few blocks and a few flights of stairs is not a warm-up.

I also couldn't help but notice that the half marathon race walkers were kicking my ass. I've never seen people walk so fast. Talk about demoralizing.

I was warmed up by mile 3 and feeling good when I came around the corner and saw the Ambassador Bridge. That thing is huge. Seriously. We were only at mile 3 and you can't help but look at it and think, "Oh crap".  

Oddly, it was on the bridge that I really began to enjoy myself. I don't know what it was, maybe it was the bright clear day, or maybe it was the view from the bridge. Maybe it was the mariachis I had passed around mile 2 back in Mexican town in Detroit or the various school bands and other people who came out to cheer us on. I always thought that would be cheesy, but you cannot imagine how much it actually helps. At mile 6 in Windsor there were some bagpipers playing for us. To all of those who came out to the race to stand on the sidelines and cheer us on: thank you. You made a difference to me.

I had my cell phone and I thought about taking pictures on the bridge, but I imagined myself dropping and breaking the phone (numb fingers). I could just see the headline now: "marathon runner drops cell phone over bridge: kills sailor". I don't need that in my life.  

I imagined that I wouldn't make it to the tunnel on time. I imagined that I would make it to the tunnel just as they were getting ready to stop people and I would make a triumphant leap over some barricade as if it were the climax of some running movie (interesting only to me). I made it to the tunnel at 9:27. Hooray!

It didn't smell like exhaust in the tunnel, which I was worried about, but it was hotter than Hell in there. I walked most of the tunnel and that’s where my feet really started to hurt.  And it was hard to start running again. And it was a lot colder in Detroit than it had been in Windsor. And I had a multitude of complaints by that time.

The last 2 miles were also hard because I kept expecting it to be over around the next corner and then it wasn’t.

Run into Ford Field. Hundreds of runners lying limp on the field. They were announcing the winners as I came in (wtf?) and only people involved with the marathon were allowed on the field. I didn’t know if Paul was in the stands or not (he was). As far as I know there was no one to see me cross the finish line as I tried to remember to smile for the camera and make sure my number was showing. But I was thrilled. I did it.

And I did it in 2:56:29. Hardly a world record, but I’m pleased.

I stopped briefly to stretch out a little, have my timing chip cut off my shoe and pick up my “finisher” medal. And then those bas- uh…marathon people made us walk UP the stairs of the stands to get out. Gah! But I managed that too. They provided all kinds of free snacks, but even though I was hungry I just wanted to find Paul.

He was right outside, waiting for me. Yay! Time to go home and take a shower. My feet had become permanently attached to the insides of my shoes. And I was just in pretty bad shape altogether. My earmuffs had become tangled in my hair and I had to wrestle them off.

One last thing: they were announcing the winners of the race as I was coming in. The winner of the marathon (yeah, 26.2 miles) ran it in 2:14:59. What…the…HELL man?? I didn’t even know such things were possible. The half marathon winner did it in 1:12:09 and the half marathon walker winner did it in 2:15:58

Goal for next year: try and beat the marathoners back in.

Goal for right now: learn how to walk again.