For my first European marathon, I decided to do some home cooking right here in Frankfurt. I registered fairly late for it, since I, admittedly, wasn't sure whether I was up for it. After all, it had been four years since my last marathon in La Paz. Besides, I would be four years older.
Best not to think about it too much. I was still putting my minutes in the gym and was running regularly in Frankfurt. What didn't play into my hands would be the bronchitis I was battling a few weeks before the October 29 start. It didn't look good, and for a moment I thought I would be out of the 95 Euro registration fee.
On Friday, I picked up my kit at the Messehalle in downtown Frankfurt, although I was not feeling confident at all. I was bracing myself for the most expensive 5k run in history, if I ever made it that far. Add to it that I was feeling a pinch in my right calf, and all bets were off. I was going to give it the old college try, come rain or shine. The weather forecast suggested neither, more likely a strong wind that might come in to play besides the low temperatures. No way was I going to fall for that. When people see low temperatures, their instinct is to bundle up, which is counterproductive. I ran with some long johns beneath my shorts, plus a short and a long sleeved jersey, and that was it. Add to it the powder blue Tar Heels cap, and I was good to go.
The evening before the merathon, I stuffed myself with spaghetti and tried to turn in early. I got five hours of sleep, which would be more than enough. In the last three days I'd had two short workouts of no more than 30 minutes. The leg held up fine, the cough was gone, and I was off the meds. Rock and roll.
The other three marathons before this one had nothing on Frankfurt. This was a big city marathon that would attract some serious names. The city was shut down, and there would be a red carpet finish line for those who would weather the gale winds along the 42 kilometer route. My goal was to make 10 km, honestly. I didn't think for a minute I would finish.
I started slow, as we all headed off near the Messehalle. We would be completing a circuit in the downtown area before we were to head south and cross the river into Sachsenhausen. I felt good. Neither legs nor lungs were acting up, I was drinking plenty of water, and kept a steady pace. Around kilometer 13, we crossed the bridge. 13 kilometers. I had already reached my goal of ten k. Now lets see if we could make the halfway point at 21 km.
Along the route, there were dozens of bands playing as we passed. What I found odd is that people were calling me 'Batman' when I passed them. That's odd, I thought. I was in white and black, really, but if they wanted me to be Batman, so be it. It wasn't until we reached the halfway mark that I turned around and saw Batman running behind me, some guy in a full Batman costume. It looked like Batman had chosen me as a hare to trail, maybe my moderate pace was exactly what he needed. I lost him eventually, Batman couldn't keep up, it seemed. There was also a Captain Jack Sparrow and plenty of clowns. Anything to get noticed.
Meanwhile, I was still managing! At km 30 near a Samba band, and not even three hours showing, I knew I would finish, even if it meant walking from there on out. Turns out it wasn't necessary. My pace remained steady until about km 35, when I hit a bit of a wall. Still I never stopped, not even for the drink breaks, and the crowd inspired me to finish the race.
Two klicks short of the finish line, a reporter thrust a microphone in my face and noted that I had a bleeding chest. You should have bandaged your teets, he mentioned to the crowd. I actually had, only I would lose the bandaid on one side. I didn't have time to explain this.
Finally, I ran into the red carpeted Festhalle with the lights shining around me. Four hours on the dot, not bad for a 48 year old geezer like myself. I picked up my medal and headed home quickly. Happy, joy, another marathon under my belt. Thank you, Frankfurt.
Best not to think about it too much. I was still putting my minutes in the gym and was running regularly in Frankfurt. What didn't play into my hands would be the bronchitis I was battling a few weeks before the October 29 start. It didn't look good, and for a moment I thought I would be out of the 95 Euro registration fee.
On Friday, I picked up my kit at the Messehalle in downtown Frankfurt, although I was not feeling confident at all. I was bracing myself for the most expensive 5k run in history, if I ever made it that far. Add to it that I was feeling a pinch in my right calf, and all bets were off. I was going to give it the old college try, come rain or shine. The weather forecast suggested neither, more likely a strong wind that might come in to play besides the low temperatures. No way was I going to fall for that. When people see low temperatures, their instinct is to bundle up, which is counterproductive. I ran with some long johns beneath my shorts, plus a short and a long sleeved jersey, and that was it. Add to it the powder blue Tar Heels cap, and I was good to go.
The evening before the merathon, I stuffed myself with spaghetti and tried to turn in early. I got five hours of sleep, which would be more than enough. In the last three days I'd had two short workouts of no more than 30 minutes. The leg held up fine, the cough was gone, and I was off the meds. Rock and roll.
The other three marathons before this one had nothing on Frankfurt. This was a big city marathon that would attract some serious names. The city was shut down, and there would be a red carpet finish line for those who would weather the gale winds along the 42 kilometer route. My goal was to make 10 km, honestly. I didn't think for a minute I would finish.
I started slow, as we all headed off near the Messehalle. We would be completing a circuit in the downtown area before we were to head south and cross the river into Sachsenhausen. I felt good. Neither legs nor lungs were acting up, I was drinking plenty of water, and kept a steady pace. Around kilometer 13, we crossed the bridge. 13 kilometers. I had already reached my goal of ten k. Now lets see if we could make the halfway point at 21 km.
Along the route, there were dozens of bands playing as we passed. What I found odd is that people were calling me 'Batman' when I passed them. That's odd, I thought. I was in white and black, really, but if they wanted me to be Batman, so be it. It wasn't until we reached the halfway mark that I turned around and saw Batman running behind me, some guy in a full Batman costume. It looked like Batman had chosen me as a hare to trail, maybe my moderate pace was exactly what he needed. I lost him eventually, Batman couldn't keep up, it seemed. There was also a Captain Jack Sparrow and plenty of clowns. Anything to get noticed.
Meanwhile, I was still managing! At km 30 near a Samba band, and not even three hours showing, I knew I would finish, even if it meant walking from there on out. Turns out it wasn't necessary. My pace remained steady until about km 35, when I hit a bit of a wall. Still I never stopped, not even for the drink breaks, and the crowd inspired me to finish the race.
Two klicks short of the finish line, a reporter thrust a microphone in my face and noted that I had a bleeding chest. You should have bandaged your teets, he mentioned to the crowd. I actually had, only I would lose the bandaid on one side. I didn't have time to explain this.
Finally, I ran into the red carpeted Festhalle with the lights shining around me. Four hours on the dot, not bad for a 48 year old geezer like myself. I picked up my medal and headed home quickly. Happy, joy, another marathon under my belt. Thank you, Frankfurt.
