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Published: September 21st 2008
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Getting a Fill
Sharon takes a much needed drink Fairbanks, a town keen on community and participation in local events, not to mention a rabid interest in physical pursuits of any kind, has outdid itself again this year with the completion of the long and arduous Equinox Marathon. Last September, cajoled by a friend a week before the race and completely unaware about what I was getting myself into in regards to physical exertion, I had signed up and paid the forty-five dollar entrance fee. The Running Club in Fairbanks hosts various short races like the 15k or 10k, and supports training year round for individuals entered in the Equinox. I had never been trained in running at any point of my life. While others had a background of track in high school or completions of previous races, my knowledge of running consisted of watching Die Hard while jogging on a treadmill to burn off stress from college finals.
Days leading up to the race (which always begins on a Saturday) involve spaghetti feeds (a last chance for carb retention) and bib pick-ups. The Equinox begins at the base of the UAF sledding hill, before winding its way up through woods, across roads, down roads, through backyards, up Ester
American Pride
This old guy was full of the American Spirit. Dome (where individuals complete a difficult five-mile there and back portion of the race) before heading downhill and back to campus. The race is considered to be one of the most grueling marathons in the United States, chiefly due to it’s up and down terrain of rock and mud in portions and iffy weather.
Residents of Fairbanks line the roads and trails to cheer on friends, families, and strangers. Support groups supply racers with Gatorade, fruit, cookies, and—in one case—bacon, to keep the energy flowing for the duration of the race’s eight hours. Support groups and watering stations are sorely needed. By September 9th, over 400 individuals and 85 relay teams had entered the 2008 Equinox.
Though I ran the Equinox last year and finished with a time of 4 h 30 min, a summer of sitting on my bum eating chocolate had not prepared me for 26.3 miles of running. I was asked again by Lydia, my friend whom I had completed the race with in 2007, but after three weeks of painful jogging around a track I was still out of breath after two flights of stairs. Convinced that I would be unable to finish due
No Turning Back
This was the beginning of the second leg of the Equinox where runners had to rerun a portion of the race back to the white tent. to my atrophied state, I didn’t sign up, and mumbled excuses to Lydia (who also decided not to run for similar reasons).
I did, however, want to be a part of the Equinox, even if it meant standing on the sidelines envying the strong and brave. I am not opposed to living vicariously in certain situations and at certain times. A late Friday night found myself crashed on a friend’s floor. Fortunately they lived close to campus, and for convenience purposes I walked back to my truck in the morning for my camera.
I almost went home. It was only nine am and even the fastest individuals wouldn’t make it to the finish line for at least another hour. Ester Dome was the convening point, but I dreaded the thought of making my way up a 25 degree hill in first gear, not to mention trying to park diagonal on a muddy dirt road surrounded by gasping, poly-clad runners. My providential curiosity fortunately overcame my apathy, and I drove as far as I could up Ester Dome. On the way I picked up Peppi, a friend of not even a month, and after driving partway to the top,
Fallen Soldiers
I don't think these guys were every needed, but they were there just in case. we parked and hiked the last 200 meters. The excitement of the race was intoxicating. Men and women, young and old, long pants and shorts, hikers and sprinters, headbands and political shirts, and active wear logos followed a path completed by thousands before them. They were people in search of self, people proving to themselves that they could indeed do what many had not.
Peppi and I stopped at a high point in the road, an intersection where runners retraced their steps before continuing on the final leg of the marathon. The hill gave observers a clear view of racers coming up and going down, in addition to racers coming from the first leg of Ester Dome to the East. As the elevation rose, fog condensed into a light drizzle. The wind made the air even colder, chilling racers and participants alike. I pulled my fleece around my ears and stamped my feet to push hot blood into my limbs. We stood in the middle of a dirt road padded flat by sneakers.
We caught the scent of running passion. With the blood pounding in my ears I yelled slogans like “Go numba’ forty-seven! Yeahhhh!” or “looking goooood!!
Watchers
From left to right, Peppi, me, Trevor, and the Germans. Keep it up!!” as my most common encouragements. We received wry smiles, laughs, or zoned looks of pain and concentration. We saw old friends (two were from college, people I had not seen in years) and acquaintances, and made new ones to add to our numbers.
As the racers began to wane, the stragglers taking up the rear, Peppi and I returned to the truck to warm ourselves. Hollering out the window at passing racers, we stopped at Lu-Lu’s for pastries and hot cocoa before ending our day of participation at the finish line located in the SRC field. I admired the people who had worked hard to complete what many thought was a useless endeavor. One man, in his seventies I assumed, almost collapsed as he crossed the finish line. In his footsteps was a ten-year-old girl who I had cheered for half-way through the race. As hamstrings tightened and adrenaline faded, they flashed sweaty smiles of accomplishment to the crowds, before limping home to showers and food.
I left before everyone finished, the cold day was finishing me, and I had experienced enough. I left, promising myself that next year, I would run again.
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