Only A Little Crazy

Inspiring or ominous?The race's starting point.
The inscription beneath the obelisk
reads: "They lived a little to die well.
They died young to live forever."

Anyone truly wishing to "get in touch with their inner self" ought to just run a marathon.  At one point or another, all of your selves will make an appearance, often at the same time, though many don't have the discipline to stick around too long.

Rest assured, they're all there!  The enthusiastic "this is so much fun" voice.  The competitive one. The pessimistic "this sucks" side of your brain - mine has quite the potty mouth - and its good friend the self-destructive, cynical voice who tells you you're not prepared, points out every ache and its potential for fatality, but who usually peaces out after you finally break through "the wall."  There's the rational one who negotiates with you when you don't want to run up that hill at kilometer 37, saying that if you make it halfway, then you can speed-walk to the crest.

And I have the reflective one who is composing this blogpost in real time, making observations along the way.  Sometimes this voice in annoying - I mean, seriously, can you please focus!  Other times it has a humorous side.  I mean, I think it does, but then I'm often strapped for oxygen to my brain so, it's questionable.

The Octavio Frias de Oliveira Bridge:
An impressive piece of art and engineering.

Some notable observations from the 2013 São Paulo Marathon:

• The Octavio Frias de Oliveira Bridge is one of the city's iconic landmarks.  The race ran underneath and then across it. Mostly because occurred a mere 10 kilometers into the race, it was spectacular.  However, in mentally preparing myself for the return trip on the out and back course, I wanted nothing more than to "not see that @#%!*$ bridge again." We didn't, so I'm glad I was in better spirits when we did cross it.
• Usually I spend time composing a playlist that collectively builds in tempo as the race progresses, for pacing purposes.  Then there's some aggressive hip-hip, rock, or reggaeton in the middle with some inspirational wailing songs at the end.  This time I simply threw a bunch of the normal fare into a playlist and hit random.  They didn't always work out, but Gym Class Heroes' "The Fighter," Mase's "Breathe, Stretch, Shake" (old school, I know), Pink's "Try," and Jonny Lang's new "Blew Up the House" helped me out a lot.  In addition, though it came at the beginning when I didn't need it, Christina Aguilera's new "We Remain" (from the upcoming Hunger Games sequel) is amazing.
• Oh, yes!  Goo!  I love goo!  Chocolate?!?  Blech!  Seriously?  Not while I'm sweaty, exhausted, and parched.  Never then.  Ever.  Why does that flavor even exist in goo?  
• Around kilometer 18 I remember distinctly thinking that this had to be the sunniest day to ever occur in São Paulo history.  I'm reminded of this now as my face emanates heat.  Isn't São Paulo grey pretty much always?  Rainy or grey.  I thought that was the deal.  Hmm...
• Runners are always anxious to see where they will hit "the wall."  I thought I hit it at around kilometer 25.  Wrong.  That was a ledge.  Kilometer 30 was the wall.  Needless to say, the intervening five kilometers were a huge let-down.
• Also, right around hitting "the wall," the good people handing out water and other refueling goods, were distributing baby potatoes.  Is this a thing?  Really?  Really. I didn't eat them.  I did stuff them in my back pocket to take a picture later, under less distressing circumstances.
• There was the older woman handing out orange slices somewhere along kilometer 36 who awkwardly chased me down to ask where I was from.  When I told her, she responded with, "Oh, foreigners are the only ones who say 'Thank you'."  How nice?  (And, yes, an old lady was able to keep pace with me while holding a bucket of orange slices.)
• After a while you kind of keep passing and getting passed by the same dozen or so people.  They become your "rabbits" and you, theirs.  You exchange places based on if you physically stop at watering stations or simply because of your general fluctuating states of dying.  Yellow Shirt and I were playing switcheroo for nearly all the second half, until I eventually lost sight of him after a few walking episodes.  Then on the last half-kilometer, I saw him up ahead.  The competitive side of me would like to be able to say I chased him down.  That would be a lie.  I was not capable of moving any faster than what I was already doing.  Yellow Shirt, on the other hand, was toast.  Dude was done.  And I passed him.  I didn't even need to try and I kind of felt guilty.  Not guilty that I passed him, but that it took no extra effort; it was basically the marathon equivalent of a mercy kill.

Me talking to myself is no longer
the craziest part of this post.

In the end, I crossed the finish line in 3 hours 24 minutes and 41 seconds. The last full marathon I ran was Duluth, Minnesota's Grandma's Marathon in a PR time of 3:24:36 in June of 2009.  I will admit to being under-trained for this one, but, four and half years later, I'm impressed and pleased with the result!  Only five seconds slower; in the marathon world I think that's a tie!

It wouldn't be a real marathon without leaving
a few toenails behind, now would it?!?

Preach.