Numerous out-of-state acquaintances have commented on the absurdity of describing anything longer than three miles as "mini." But I like that Indiana's most famous half-marathon, the Indianapolis Mini Marathon, can be both "mini" and the largest half-marathon in the country. It exemplifies that Midwestern "aw shucks" attitude that makes it neat-o without being presumptuous. (That presumptuousness is reserved for the car race a few weeks later, which is clearly the world's best pollution-ridden sporting event in the world.)Friday night I came down with a bad soar throat, but after comparing my list of symptoms to those of H1N1 (a.k.a. the swine flu) I determined I would not be spreading any global pandemics by my presence. I gave some last second advice to Pops, then took some NyQuil to get a few hours of sleep before getting up early to trot over to the starting line for moral support.
Bolstered by the good news yesterday at that the doctor doesn't think my stress fracture is severe and that I can start running again in a week or so, I broke out into a gallop, weaving through the tens o
f thousands of folks making their way into race corrals, through non-runners looking for a prime spot to wait for a loved one to finish the 13.1 mile race, or past volunteers setting up mounds of bananas and stacked cups of water and Gatorade. For those few minutes with the wind in my face again, I forgot that my throat was on fire, and it was blissful. The snot running down my face quickly snapped me back to reality, though.The weather was perfect for a distance run: temperature in the high 40s, rain the night before but no rain at the moment, light cloud cover and no wind. I watched the elites run underneath the gigantic American flag hanging between two fire truck ladders, and snapped a few photos of my teammates before watching the masses go by. The wheelchair race was over (about 45 minutes in) before all of the runners and walkers had even made it through the bottleneck at Washington and West streets to start their journey. It is no quick task to move 40,000 people through a 24-foot starting line.
After watching the start I parked myself on the grassy area near the finish line and waited. And waited. And waited. While running, time ticks away too fast, yet while waiting at a finish line, it's as though someone dropped the clock in a vat of molasses and the hands are stuck in goo. I played with a few of the dogs (including a pug!) who were waiting for their two-legged loved ones to finish, then finally finishers started coming down New York Street. Brooks Team Indiana Elite was well represented with the top male and female finishers from Indiana, Jeff Powers and Camille Herron.
My training partner, Dani, heroically finished the race despite being sick the entire last two weeks. I saw a few friends finish strong, but was getting dizzy scanning the thick crowd of runners for a 50-year-old five-foot-eight man wearing black shorts, a white t
-shirt and gray hat. There were a lot of people who fit that description. (Note to self: make Dad wear a bright pink shirt next year). Finally I saw my dad run across the finish line two hours and ten minutes into the race, quite an accomplishment considering his bad Achilles and that he has not run more than 18 miles in a week since his marathon last fall.My body felt miserable because of whatever bug was inhabiting it, but my spirit was uplifted watching a
ll of those runners, of every make and model, finish the half-marathon. This is the second year in a row I've watched this race, and again it reminded me of all those corny touchy-feely reasons why I run, and why I want to run when I can't.
