Ha, I just realized that my last two posts were about music. What can I say, music makes me have feelings and thoughts and if facebook and social networks have taught me anything, it's that everyone must know my thoughts and feelings because I am fascinating!
Anywho. As you probably know, I am married to a guy who thinks that running for hours and hours is fun. Weird, I know. This makes him do things like sign up for marathons, even when he hasn't trained for one, and the longest he's ran in months was 'only' a half marathon. What you may not know is that in an attempt to be a supportive wife, I try to go with him to his races, even though I'll only see him for a few minutes at the start (sometimes, sometimes the start line is somewhere else and I don't actually go with him on the shuttle, I wait with the car at the finish line), and again at the finish line, which is always seriously anticlimactic. Some people run through the finish with their arms triumphantly raised, shouting and cheering and just so clearly proud of themselves. Some go through in obvious pain and you can see the relief they're feeling that it's finally over, but you can also tell how proud they are that they pushed through the pain and finished. I'm always more impressed with those people. My husband, though? He just jogs through, nods at me, I point to where the exit is, then meet him there with his bag and water. Then we wander around a bit so he can cool off and stretch. "How was it? You feeling ok?" "Yeah, it was fine, you want to drive home though? My hip is sore." That's usually about it. Because he didn't train for this one, he was definitely in rougher shape than normal, but even then, he was just concerned about getting his finishers shirt and medal (what's the point of running if you don't get the medal?) and getting away from the crowd (they had about 33,000 runners at today's race, plus all the support staff, friends and family, vendors, cops, etc). The thing is though, marathons take several hours. Even the really fast runners still take at least 2 and a half. And it's hot here. So they start early. Really early. We had to be at the parking lot by 3, so he could get on the shuttle, for the race that started at 5. That means we got to get up at 2am. At least I get to sleep in the car for a bit after he leaves, but still. Car sleep is not the same as real sleep. Clearly, I love the guy if I'm willing to get up at 2, drive for an hour to drop him off, then try to sleep in a car, all so I can watch him jog across an arbitrary line so he can get a cheap medal.
I'm gonna go take a nap. He's already pretty unconscious.
Anywho. As you probably know, I am married to a guy who thinks that running for hours and hours is fun. Weird, I know. This makes him do things like sign up for marathons, even when he hasn't trained for one, and the longest he's ran in months was 'only' a half marathon. What you may not know is that in an attempt to be a supportive wife, I try to go with him to his races, even though I'll only see him for a few minutes at the start (sometimes, sometimes the start line is somewhere else and I don't actually go with him on the shuttle, I wait with the car at the finish line), and again at the finish line, which is always seriously anticlimactic. Some people run through the finish with their arms triumphantly raised, shouting and cheering and just so clearly proud of themselves. Some go through in obvious pain and you can see the relief they're feeling that it's finally over, but you can also tell how proud they are that they pushed through the pain and finished. I'm always more impressed with those people. My husband, though? He just jogs through, nods at me, I point to where the exit is, then meet him there with his bag and water. Then we wander around a bit so he can cool off and stretch. "How was it? You feeling ok?" "Yeah, it was fine, you want to drive home though? My hip is sore." That's usually about it. Because he didn't train for this one, he was definitely in rougher shape than normal, but even then, he was just concerned about getting his finishers shirt and medal (what's the point of running if you don't get the medal?) and getting away from the crowd (they had about 33,000 runners at today's race, plus all the support staff, friends and family, vendors, cops, etc). The thing is though, marathons take several hours. Even the really fast runners still take at least 2 and a half. And it's hot here. So they start early. Really early. We had to be at the parking lot by 3, so he could get on the shuttle, for the race that started at 5. That means we got to get up at 2am. At least I get to sleep in the car for a bit after he leaves, but still. Car sleep is not the same as real sleep. Clearly, I love the guy if I'm willing to get up at 2, drive for an hour to drop him off, then try to sleep in a car, all so I can watch him jog across an arbitrary line so he can get a cheap medal.
I'm gonna go take a nap. He's already pretty unconscious.
1 comment:
I'm still disappointed that we missed the ending of the marathon we went to...
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