haley is where?: My First Marathon

It has been a while since I posted an update. I hope to get caught up this coming week, but they will not be in chronological order. My sense of linear time has collapsed; maybe it never existed in the first place. What matters are the stories I´ve collected to share with you.

It´s pouring outside and I´m sitting in the empty desk of my Argentinian roommate who flew back home a couple weeks ago, working on my Spanish roommate´s tiny computer. Her password is ´mierda´. My trusty purple 2006 MacBook finally kicked the bucket; and although I am glad it can eternally rest, I firmly believe it could have at least waited until after finals. I left it at the repair shop for a week and was charged exorbitant fees for them to tell me it was too expensive to fix and they can´t do anything. Since the beginning of March, I have not had a convenient or functional computer setup. I feel handicapped. When did we start depending on technology so heavily? Was it our decision?

Last weekend I travelled to Madrid again to participate in the Rock ´n Roll 2012 Madrid Marathon. The night before I left, I went out with a couple British friends and Katelyn to a Japanese and Chinese all-you-can-eat buffet for 8 euros. There was a narrow conveyor belt constantly chugging around the tables carrying various dishes, we watched the same cold pair of prawns circle sadly around the entire night like a sick amusement park ride. If you saw something to liked, you had to snatch it before the other tables spotted it. Naturally we entered into an eating contest and anyone who knows me well knows that I took the competition seriously. I could hardly walk afterwards, but I had the excuse of needing running energy. If there is an alternate universe where I don´t run regularly I wouldn’t want to see a picture of myself.

I woke up early the next morning to catch the five hour bus ride to the capital and ran into our official groupies: Theresa´s roommates, Louise and Maeve. In the evening the four of us gathered at the temporary apartment rented by Theresa´s aunt and mother to eat a well-balanced meal of fish, roasted vegetables, and bread. The atmosphere was homey and warm, the decorations were colorful but tasteful, and everyone was relaxed. We posed for pictures in our fancy free running singlet we received earlier that day when we got our bibs and attended the pasta party. I could not think of a better pre-race night. We slept on couches and woke up before the sun to eat our meager breakfast then went in search of the finish line to drop off our belongings.

The port-O-pots advertised being ´ecofriendly´, and when I got inside discovered that was a polite way of saying ´no toilet paper´. In a panic, I saw a man discard the course map and scooped it up before it hit the ground, and did my business minutes before the start. Non-runners may not understand the importance of this pre-race ritual, but it can make or break you. During the race I saw many runners who were not as fortunate as I was, you could smell what happened before you saw what happened.

We weaved and squeezed our way up to the 3:45 pace balloons, and unceremoniously shuffled in a giant mass over the electrical mats that would start our chip time. I was tight and anxious for the first 10k, concentrating so hard I couldn´t keep a conversation with Theresa. I warmed up a bit and was going strong by the 20k, and surprisingly started to have fun. I fully realized that I was in Spain, running a marathon, and a great sense of pride came over me. I picked up the pace.

There were water stations and a band playing every 5k, and it felt like you were running on a giant treadmill with 100 other people. The last 4k (out of 42k) was uphill (who planned that?!) and I was approached by a man with a microphone and he ran alongside me. It was a bit strange, because the last time I was in Madrid I was also interviewed and on the news. I told him (okay, lied) that I didn´t speak Spanish and ran past the video camera.

The last 2k I began to feel numbness creep up my legs and had the sensation my toes had fallen off and were floating around in my shoes. I made it over the finish line, pins and needles spread up my legs and arms, across my face, and I had to fight for consciousness. I succeeded.

They wrapped me in a plastic blanket, put a medal over my head, and fed me slimy oatmeal. I wobbled by and ate everything they handed to me, sat contentedly on the grass, and felt the most accomplished I have ever felt in my life.

I finished over 9 minutes faster than my goal pace, with a final time of 3:33:17. My place was 58^th out of 1015 women who ran, putting me in the top 5%. I ran 8 minute miles for 26 miles.

We found each other at the finish line, ate ice cream, and then got on the bus for the long and painful five-hour ride back to Granada.