Picking up from yesterday -
As I came toward the finish area, a woman was walking toward me and said, “Are you Aurora?” I said, “Yeah, why?” “Your parents are so excited.” Oh geez. I wonder what they’ve been saying for the past few hours. (She was looking for her friend, not me, so she kept on going as did I in the opposite direction.)
As I got closer (within earshot of spectators), I yelled out “I’m here!” My parents and their new friends scrambled around to hold up posters, cheer, and take pictures. I ran on through over 15 hours(!) after I’d started.
I met the new group of people my parents had made friends with. We posed for a few pictures. My dad broke the news to me that they’d run out of marathon medals.
I’d had the fleeting thought many hours earlier that they would probably run out of medals before I got there. However, one of my dad’s new friends, Mike, made a very sweet gesture – giving me his medal. (Since it was my first marathon, he didn’t want me to have to go home empty-necked). I tried to refuse; I was willing to wait for one in the mail. But he was sweet and insistent, so I didn’t turn away kindness. (Don’t worry about Mike. They’re mailing him one.)
Before we left (and at least twenty minutes after I’d come into the finish), the people who were timing the race asked if I remembered when I came in. They’d forgotten to mark it down when I’d finished. I had no concept of anything at that time, so they just guessed. So, my finish time isn’t accurate to the second (or probably even the minute).
Officially, I finished in 15:12:15. When your first marathon takes over 15 hours, does it matter if it’s 15:12 or 15:02 or 15:32? No it does not.
A few days later, once the results came out, I realized I was 3rd in the 18-24 year old women category! Fun fact, right? Obviously, since I was also dead last, there were only 3 women in that category who finished. (There was one more who DNF’d (did not finish).)
There was no prize or official recognition for being “3rd” (read: last) in my age group. In big marathons, there are extra prizes and medals for those categories. (In big marathons, I would never come in the top three in my age group, so I’m certainly not saying I actually deserve one.) In this marathon, there were so few people that practically everyone probably came in the top 3 in their age group.
However, I’m still going to think it’s super cool, even if it’s just a little unofficial fact I found by going through the results… of which you could read every name and age… because it was a teeny race… And I was third in my age group (in the imaginary world where they split it up the way the Rock ‘n’ Roll series and others do)! Yee haw!
Note: If you have been detoured at all from reading this entry, that’s not my purpose. Do a marathon! They are fun. Running is amazing. Just, you know, get your sleep. And run on your preferred surface.
When I made it back to my parents house, my mom had even had a cake made for my first marathon. Aww.
I gave my entire family specific instructions not to wake me up for any reason, under any circumstance. I really wanted to sleep for about 24 hours.
Sure enough, in the early afternoon the next day, my dad and sister come bounding into the room.
Come on, y’all!
I know it’s Father’s Day. And I know I had about 12 hours of sleep. But 12 is not enough!
I wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, but they were going to the new Adam Sandler movie (That’s My Boy)! I don’t care what anyone says (too many Adam Sandler haters on the internet). It looked funny. It was hilarious. I really wanted to see it, so I rolled out of bed and went.
My body was all, “oh, you want to mess with me? I was willing to let you pull an all-nighter and traipse through the woods all day. You made me believe I would get to sleep if I got you through it! Yet you’re foregoing precious, precious sleep for a movie that you could watch anytime? It’s on now, girl!”
Now I have a cold. And I’m forever blaming my dad for waking me up. Until I get better. Which by the looks of it will be never.
Another race in the books (interwebs). It’s official. I’m a marathoner. Ish.