My First Marathon

On the 15^th of January 2012, I completed the Chevron Houston Marathon, my first official marathon.  I finished in 4:54:30.  After training for about six months, it’s not a great finishing time.  I was shooting for anything under 5 hours, so I’m happy with it, especially since it beats my previous training time by about 4 minutes.  At nearly 34 years old, slightly overweight and never being even a mediocre athlete, my finish time wasn’t that important.  Okay, it was more than a little important, but it was the experience of running those 26.2 miles and finishing my first marathon in my hometown that mattered most.  Clocking a respectable time and being able to walk afterwards were just icing on the cake.  Really delicious icing on really yummy cake.

26.2 miles is a completely different creature in training than it is in an official race.  Training is at times desolate.  It’s just you and the road most days.  You’re weighed down by water bottles and snacks to supply the long runs.  If you listen to music, despite being the jams that may get your heart going, it’s likely the same songs you’ve heard over and over again.  Then there’s the problem of locating a bathroom which can be a serious issue on a 20 mile training run.  After all that training though, you get to race day.

The starting line 

Before crossing the starting line, the energy is palpable as I’m standing amidst thousands of anxious runners waiting to hear the word “go”.  There’s music playing and an announcer addressing the crowd.  And while I can only make out every other word he says, I listen with intense anticipation.  I start running carrying only some GU and my iPhone, unburdened by a hydration pack filled with Gatorade.  I don’t need to be concerned about drinks or bathrooms, because there are plenty of both along the course.  There’s no monotony.  There’s no desolation.  Along the course there is an abundance of entertainment.  Live bands keep the air filled with great music.  Even members of Rice University’s Marching Owl Band greet us with percussion and brass as we pass the Rice campus.  Belly Dancers, Ronald McDonald, the Blues Brothers, and a few Elvises are also there to keep runners motivated. 

One of my favorite things to do during a race is to read the signs people make.  Among my favorites were signs that read “Chuck Norris never ran a marathon” and “Run faster!  The Texans game starts at 12!”  That was the day my Houston Texans played Baltimore in the playoffs.  They lost.  Boo.  The best sign I remember read, “Running a marathon takes balls.  Other sports just play with them.”  If it’s not on a t-shirt already, it should be.

The best part of running the Houston Marathon and running any race is the spectators and volunteers that cheer on family, friends, and strangers alike.  In the West University neighborhood, people were having race parties in their driveways serving coffee and breakfast to their neighbors as they all yelled encouraging words to runners.  One person in the crowd along mile 14 had a box of donuts for any runner to partake of.  Thanks, man!  There were also folks giving beer to runners on miles 22 and 23.  My memory is a little fuzzy at this point as I was beginning to feel tired, but I think one of those beer stations was a pirate ship.  Maybe the heat was getting to me (it was in the mid 60s by this point which is warm compared to January in Chicago where I live).  The most memorable thing that happened to me at the Houston Marathon and at any race for that matter came after mile 19.  I was beginning to zone out and I could feel my pace grow slower and more difficult.  To my right people were cheering loudly.  A pastor with his church choir was also there in full Sunday robes.  I still felt out of it.  Then I see, sitting in a wheelchair in front of all the spectators, President George H.W. Bush.  Immediately I make my way over to him and say, “Hello, Mr. President,” as I shake his hand.  After that, I was running a sub 10 min/mile for nearly 1.5 miles. 

Not me in the picture 

Former President George H. W. Bush shakes hands with runners in front of St. Martin's Episcopal Church near the 19th mile marker along Woodway Blvd. during the Chevron Houston Marathon on Sunday, Jan. 15, 2012, in Houston. Photo: Houston Chronicle, Mayra Beltran / © 2011 Houston Chronicle

Of all the entertainment and spectators, the greatest thing about running not only my first marathon but also my first racing event in my hometown was seeing my family and friends cheering me on along the way and having them there at the finish line.  I’ve ran races in Baltimore, Cincinnati, Chicago, and even Dallas.  None of it compares to having the people close to you be a part of the experience.

Having been born in and lived most of my life there, Houston has never had that big city feel despite being the fourth largest city in the United States.  I never knew that Houston has the third most concentrated skyline in the U.S. behind New York City and Chicago, or that its downtown is the seventh largest downtown business district in the country.  Even Houston’s 17-block Theater District, the nation’s second largest after New York City, never gave me the impression I was going to get swept away in a sea of people to be lost in a concrete jungle.  Houston never gave me the same vibe I would later feel living in New York and Chicago.  It always felt like a quiet, larger than average, Texas town.  But in a field of over 25,000 runners along a course lined with approximately 250,000 cheering spectators, crossing that finish line in my first official marathon was like running into the warm, welcoming arms of sweet victory.  It felt exactly how I thought it would after training for so many months, flying across the country, and pushing my body and mind to run 26.2 miles.  It felt like coming home.