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2004 L.A. Marathon:
Another Perfect Day
By
Brent Mullins
Outsports.com
(Photos Below)
Santa Ana wind blowin'
hot from the north ...
Roll down the window, put down the top
Cruising towards
downtown on the 10 with the early morning sun glimmering over the
approaching silhouetted skyscrapers against a cobalt blue sky …
warming up my sleep-deprived state with the anticipation of
thousands of runners. Mixing in a bit of pride and superiority for
others who didn’t have the opportunity to relish winter weather that
was hard to distinguish from most summers’.
Hate New York
City
It's cold and it's damp
Let's leave Chicago to the Eskimos
That town's a little (bit) too rugged
So many others
converging on downtown for an early Sunday morning … zooming up the
wide boulevards at near-freeway speeds, finally grabbing a parking
spot a few blocks from the starting line. Even the parking lot
attendant pulling his sign onto the sidewalk was having a good time
flashing his toothy smile. Runners pulling out their own special
stash of food and clothing, chattering in nervous anticipation of
the challenge ahead.
From the South
Bay to the Valley
From the West Side to the East Side
Everybody's very happy
'Cause the sun is shining all the time
Looks like another perfect day
Groups of T-shirted
uniformity yelping upon spotting each other … pumping themselves up
for the Big Event after what had often been a year-long of training.
College … church … towns … job … family … causes and every other
kind of group in between clumping together, embracing the familiar
while eyeing the exotic, eccentric and egomaniacal alternatives
surrounding them. Family and friends—distinguishing themselves with
more ample flesh and extensive food supplies—staking out the best
sites near the start and finish lines, some having been there for
hours already.
Runners circling
around each other, dropping any pretense of personal space as the
start time approached, with the elite runners separated by rope and
volunteers from the masses, allowing them a clean start unimpeded by
the less professional. Wheelchair racers admiring each others
unique high-tech saddles and eye-popping paint jobs, with outfits to
match.
Crank up the Beach Boys, baby
Don't let the music stop
A cheer goes up …
the wheelchairs are off, ensuring their high-speed wheels aren’t
impeded by anyone with the slower legged conveyance. Another cheer
as the elite women, in a move to create a men vs. women battle at
the finish, are given a precise 18-minute head start. Runners
shaking to warm up as they shed their extra shirts, sweats and
plastic garbage sacks…twitching as they press forward, checking
their high-tech watches, packets of high-calorie goo, sun block and
music devices that will keep them going in the hours ahead.
This is it. The
collective roaring. And the mass of limbs, ligaments and liniment
surging forward in a stampede of pent-up energy setting out to prove
they have what it takes to make it over the long haul. 26.2 miles
of LA LA land.
Look at that
mountain
Look at those trees
Century Boulevard (We love it)
Victory Boulevard (We love it)
Santa Monica Boulevard (We love it)
Sixth Street (We love it, we love it)
Driving over to
mile marker 11 just in time to see the cluster of elite male
humanity come zooming down Venice Boulevard, surrounded by
mechanical vehicles for timing, support and photographic opportunity
clinging to a 3-tiered flatbed truck careening around the
piston-pumping pros. Their 12 mph rate stunning me … remembering I
could only sustain a paltry 9 mph for a just few treadmilling miles
at the gym. Volunteers, from little kids off the playground to
seniors off their rockers, extending their hands with cups of water
and Gatorade for ready swiping by the increasing hoards of sweating,
grunting, gasping runners pushing on through the heat.
Santa Ana wind
blowin' hot from the north
And we was born to ride
We're gonna ride it till we just can't ride it no more
Neighbors pulling
out a garden hose to spritz the already soaked supplicants …
cheering them on by name on their numbered tags…”Come on
Chris—looking good! Keeping going Sandra—you can make it!
Justin—you’re half-way there!” Keeping their cheers going, all the
way through the already walking, bedraggled stragglers.
One dreadlocked
neighbor, taking a break from hosing the runners, lighting up a
cigarello in the shade, extrapolating my figure of 24,000 runners to
be “almost a quarter of a million … just imagine a million-man
march!”
Driving home later
into the sunset over the ocean, realizing that some were just
crossing the finish line. Exhausting their bodies, but not their
spirits.
I love L.A.
(We Love It)
I Love L.A.
(We Love It)
I Love L.A.
(We Love It)
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