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Published: October 23rd 2005
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Orange Juice or Beer on the Right
Seriously, how anybody could drink a beer after running 12 kilometeres remains one of the universe's great mysteries to me. Breaking all my Fitness Rules
Anyone who has known me for very long is aware of my lifelong anti-love affair with running. Many people can probably tell you that my number one fitness rule goes as follows: “Run only when chased.” It has served me well, leaving me things such as rollerblading, skiing, and paintball (see above rule) to fill in the fitness gap between lifting weights with my buddy Trent Busenitz (Trent, I miss the exercise balls). So I was reticent when my good friend Emilio invited me to run in Seville’s 17th annual Guadalquivir River Night Run. He said he could sign me up and get me my number, and I could just meet all our friends who were running in it at the bridge where it started. Willing to bend my rules in this case, I asked how long it was. “Two kilometers,” he said. Doing the math, I figured that was about 1.2 miles and said, “Of course” figuring I had run that far a few times in my life.
Fast forward a week and a half. On Wednesday, I was telling my roommate Jared at the lunch table about the race on Friday
The Finished Crowd
This is the very last of the runners to cross the finish line. and asking if he wanted to run. Our host family’s son Isaias looked surprised, and said, “You’re running?” I said yeah, and said he should because Emilio said a bunch of our friends were doing it. He said, “No way, I’m not very athletic, I couldn’t do it.” At this point you would think I would be concerned, but I was completely oblivious. I responded, “Hey, I’m not an athlete at all, it’s only 2 K!” At this point Isaias busted up laughing… and then I began to worry. He responded with a huge smile between huge laughs, “Dude, it’s 12 K not 2 K!”
This would be the point in my linguistic experience when I warn future generations that Sevillanos speak a Spanish utterly bereft of “s” sounds and other nearby vowel sounds, resulting in 2 and 12 sounding practically the same on a loud bus moving through the city at night. With that in mind, and a swirling mind at that, I found myself surrendering to the age old saying: “In for a penny, in for a pound.” I knew that if it was city-wide race not everyone would run the whole time anyway, and, never
Having Run the Race
I know somebody's going to ask me, so I'll just answer now: Was it worth it? Definitely. having run more than 3 miles in my life, figured that almost any distance I ran would be a new record.
The race began at a bridge north of town. I arrived 5 minutes late because the bus I had to take to get there ran right up the route. Arriving at the wrong side of the bridge I watched an ocean of runners, filling all six-lanes of the bridge, pass by me. And then more came, and more, until as far as I could see in both directions the massive school of runners flowed by me, while I stood on top of the K-rail in the median of the bridge. Once the flow begin to thin, I just jumped in (I was halfway across and it started on the other side). And may I say that I had actually ran just short of the sixth kilometer before I had to jog trot a ways (that being about 30 minutes past where I thought I’d drop dead right where I ran). I met a lot of people on the way, and finished out the race with a missionary friend named Toby who I had met a few days prior.
I think I finally understand a little better some of my psychotically athletic friends, as I can now say I’ve seen the thrill they must get having thousands of people on the sidelines and overhead as they go under overpasses, yelling and cheering them on as they pass by and handing them water bottles (which become a ‘floor covered in marbles’ mess of wet bottle caps to slide on in the street). The last couple of kilometers were really something as we turned down into a huge parking garage underground. I had no idea where we were going as we surged down a few levels of this garage, until all of a sudden we ran right out onto the track of the huge football stadium. Now let me say here, I’ve never been on the track of a stadium like this, unless I was taking pictures, so tens of thousands of people was quite a sight for me. We ran all the way around to the other side under several McDonald’s blow-up arches to the finish, where I am sure I have never been able to stretch my then rubber-like muscles so far, so easily.
Just outside, we received a bag with t-shirt, medal, and various snacks from our friends at Nestle and Lays. McDonald’s was giving out free orange juice to everyone, while Cruzcampo gave out free beer. How anyone can run 12 miles and then drink a foaming beer, I will never know, but hey it sounds like a great way to get back every single calorie you might have conceivably burned during the race. Doing the math at 5 miles per hour, I set my goal for the race to 1 hour 30 minutes, so I was ecstatic to say I did it in 1:22:18. Another health company had a huge tent full of tables set up giving free muscle massages; to my everlasting regret, I didn’t have the patience to line-up. Toby and I walked back to his car; the nearest parking spot, thanks to the massive crown at the event, was around another mile away. I never could get an official number, but between conflicting reports I surmised there were 5,000-10,000 people running, which explained the mile long sea of people I witnessed.
The next day, I stepped onto the floor and almost cried out when I thought my calves wouldn’t actually bend to allow me to step. But after about 4 days, and a lot of sleep, I felt great. And in case you’re wondering, I’m still not taking up running as a regular routine… but I might at least think about it now.
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your girl
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what a stud.