Today was the Chicago Marathon. The temperature was, is, freezing, literally. Not to mention the wind, which made it as unpleasant as licking a flagpole in a blizzard. I, however, had a great seat for MY Chicago Marathon -- under the covers in bed, where any sane person ought to be at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.
The men's winner, one of the
Kenyans I'm sure, fended off a last minute challenge and then slipped
on the rubberized finish line and slammed his head on the ground.
Someone couldn't keep the moisture off the mat? That's like getting to
the top of Everest and then tripping on a stone and going over the
side. I smell lawsuit.
The women's winner was a another Kenyan who dogged a Russian on her shoulder
for most of the race then passed her at the end. The first American
woman finished 12th or worse. The McNuggets are taking a toll.
The frontrunner had been a Romanian woman
who has come in second a couple of times. She went out so fast she was running
with the men for a long time. They talked about her audacity and
courage for setting such a killer pace. Mostly it was a dumb idea. I
can say that from the safety of my down comforter.
Usually I'm downtown at the halfway
point which is conveniently located across from the train station.
There's always a crowd, a band, a DJ, a whole carnival of discount
events. I'm the Mom holding up a sign looking for a glimpse of my
younger daughter, or last year, both of my daughters who ran together.
Two hours of waiting for twenty seconds of waving. One year I walked
the entire course backward trying to find my daughter and never saw
her. Not recommended. Nothing beats a pre arranged spot, a chair to sit
in, a cooler with food and drinks.
This year, neither one of them did
the race. My younger daughter stayed in London. I stayed warm and cozy
and we talked on the phone instead. My training consisted of three
oatmeal raisin cookies and a glass of milk. Is there an Olympics for
long distance lying down? I'm there.