It's all relative.

image from Cafe Press, obviously.

Last year two relatives, namely Rick and Heather, trained for an Ironman (which event Rick completed and Heather would have if she hadn't been run over --- but also, btw, a couple weeks ago, after recovering from forced immobility, she successfully completed a 1/2 ironman. But, I digress). With that in mind, Briton and I ran a little marathon last Saturday -- the Seattle Rock n' Roll -- a mere cool down for an Ironman.

We stayed with good friends in the area, who also watched our kids during the race. I know. Nice. But I learned not to say "thank you" -- I tried and they were all offended that I would stoop to such formalities. :).

Back: Dinesh, Dinesh's parents, Anu, Rishi (age 2)
Front: A motley crew

It's fun to arrive at the starting line together and wish the best of luck (and not to break a leg) and a share a quick peck before parting ways: Brit to Corral 2 and me to Corral 22 (via a long walk back to the bag drop and a long wait in the porta potty line. It's all casual at the back of pack -- we didn't cross the starting line until 33 minutes after the elite runners).

This was a ROCK N' ROLL-garage band-psychedelic-crazy-hype-up-the-crowd kind of marathon. Bands stationed approximately every mile, high school cheerleaders in various states of undress, supportive crowds cheering, etc. Except there was a short section along the waterfront that decried all those shenanigans: there were pictures of servicemen who died in Afghanistan posted on short pickets. Each poster included their name, age, and date of death. Several pictures were young fathers holding their newborn babies or young children. The average age of all these men was probably early 20's. Sadness. A runner next to me said, "Well, that puts it all in perspective." Following the posters were people standing with American flags cheering for the runners. For us? I wonder if each person at a flag was a family member of one of the people who died. And I thought, "No, this is all backwards. We should be thanking you. Cheering for you. Your race is much longer and harder." Relativity.

Anyway. That was very emotional.

A half mile up the road a punky band put pep back in the pack. But I don't think I'll ever forget that emotion.

Moving on, if you're still with me.

Around mile 7 or something, there were signs announcing "Split Ahead" -- a guy with a megaphone kept repeating "Full to the right. Half to the left." The marathon course took us across the Washington Bridge (scenic and I love bridges - so this was a hit for me) and the 1/2 marathon course went somewhere else. It was comical to approach that split with that guy. I mean, this event had 26,000 runners/walkers and we were coming at this juncture in droves. Like a pack of rats running from a flood. And then the split happens and I wondered if that's what Judgement Day will be like: "Sheep to the right. Goats to the left." Not that there's anything wrong with the 1/2 marathon, mind you. Don't get yer gander up. OR your dander.

A cool thing I saw was a girl running with a blind guy. She held a long PVC pipe in each hand and the guy was running behind her, holding onto the PVC pipe.

A cool thing Briton saw was an abandoned roll of duck tape. His knee was killing him. The pain was so bad he was thinking he'd have to walk the rest of the course -- or hobble or something -- and then go under the knife! -- surgery possibly -- or at least cutting up his shirt so he could brace his knee. But instead, yea, like unto manna from Heaven, he sees this roll of duct tape sitting on the highway barrier and is able to make a brace. Like MacGyver!!!! And then he qualified for Boston anyway. I think his speediness and brains are very sexy.

The end of the marathon was a pain. There were two up and backs along the Alaskan Highway. Those are hard when you're at mile 17 and you look across the barrier and there's mile 21 staring at you. So close. And yet, so far. The Space Needle was around there somewhere to look at but I didn't see it. I was looking at the asphalt. Some Gu at 22 (or whereever) perked the system up for a bit. I stopped to stretch out some tight muscles a couple times, and after mile 24, when I stood up, the 4:30 pacer zipped by me and I was like, "What the...!?!?!?!?!?" I was so close to finishing under 4:30 that I didn't want to give it up. So I slogged after him and was able to squeeze out just enough energy to cross the finish line around 4:26. I know. Super cute!

Image courtesy of Intel, an Expo vendor

Brit and I hadn't talked about where to meet up. I staggered through the recovery chute, a saint tied a foil blanket around me, and then wandered to Letter "B" in the family meeting area figuring that was as likely a place as any to meet him. I collapsed on the ground and then heard this guy talking about how he was in the hospital last week, ....., wondered who would be so crazy as to run a race after being hospitalized and saw that it was a guy from our ward (who, incidentally, was talking to Briton - so problem solved). Who has cancer. The guy. Not Briton. Anyway, he (the guy) has been through rounds and rounds of chemo. And just ran a 1/2 marathon! That is super impressive to me and beyond cute.

And that's the story. You're still here????

Next up? 3 days of guilt-free rest!!!! I love week zero. Then, a festive July 4th Freedom Run, Hood to Coast, and then just tonight, on a whim decided to join Headuh and Rick and his son for the Richmond Marathon in November.

The end.