3:13:34

We finished. Heather and I crossed the finish line on Sunday at 10:25:44 AM. Our time of 3:13:34 was by no means remarkable, but we had a really incredible time doing it and I’m proud of us just for finishing.

The day started early Sunday at 4:45, when we wedged ourselves out of bed and attempted to function. Actually, our upstairs neighbors started it for me at 4:15 with their post-drinking, noisy return to the house. I think the people who own the unit above ours generally sleep most of the day and then strap on hiking boots and recreate scenes from Stomp whenever they think we’re sleeping. Anyway, just a few moments after I finally tuned them out and got back to sleep, it was time to arise. We took Marta down to Five Points–presumably a Smarta choice than jockeying for parking spaces with 12,000 other participants–and milled around in the pre-dawn confusion on Alabama Street near the starting line.

Note: twelve thousand is an insane number of people. Overweight husbands kissed their wives, wished them good luck, and then painfully forced their way through the morass of stretching runners to get to the sideline and unfurl their signs reading “WE LOVE YOU TAMI”. Runners with that über-serious I-have-vaseline-on-my-nipples look on their face pushed past us in an attempt to start closer to the front of the pack. I don’t know why it really mattered, since we all wore chips that tracked our progress to the second. I suppose you get more of an adrenaline boost being at the front of the pack.

The adrenaline was something I didn’t expect. I remarked to myself several times over the course of the race that if I had this kind of encouragement every time I exercised, I’d never have motivation problems again.

The route was absolutely gorgeous and–for the most part–well thought out.

Highlights:

• Mile 1: The multitude of secluded bushes for the, ahem, gentlemen runners with a need to relieve themselves. It’s not illegal if you’re in a race, right? Right?
• Mile 3: The gospel singers on the side of the road near Inman Park. How these people could get that excited at 7:30 in the morning still eludes me, but I cracked a big smile jogging past them swaying gently in their robes, so I guess they served their purpose.
• My iPod Shuffle, which was a tremendous aid in my motivation and concentration. “Eye of the Tiger” and “The Final Countdown” both came at appropriate moments in the race, but I did end up skipping “Don’t Stop Believing” when it came up in Mile 4. (Too soon.)
• The portable toilets with the moniker “Happy Can” situated at convenient points along the route, including Mile 6. These seemed to be frequented mostly by the female participants, probably because the bushes I mentioned earlier proved much faster for the men. I’m not sure how the serious runners–who are often trying to milk every precious second out of their time as possible–handle this matter. I guess they probably just let loose whenever, or more elegantly, pace their fluid intake precisely in order to never exceed the volume they lose through sweat.
• Around Mile 7, we were passed by the male leaders in the full marathon and I marveled at the fact that they had already completed a staggering 20 miles and showed no signs of stopping.
• Mile 8: The “Beer Table” set out by cheering revelers along Virginia Ave near Piedmont Park. I was pretty tempted to grab a plastic cup of cold beer, but I was worried this might not be the best way to stay focused.
• Mile 9: Several of the runners (probably actual athletes, who, you know, tried and pushed themselves and stuff) chose scenic Piedmont Park as the spot to forcibly heave their Clif Bars and Gatorade back out and onto the grass. Meanwhile, I saw cameras with particularly long lenses in use throughout the park, and made every attempt I could to sprint in a picturesque fashion whenever I detected one aimed at me. Hopefully, I can geta photo out of them that makes me actually look like a runner.
• Mile 12: For some reason, as we got closer to the finish, more and more people started reading our names off of our bibs and offering anonymous-though-personalized encouragement. We probably did a double take a half dozen times to an onlooker shouting “Go Heather and Garrett!!! You can do it!” before we realized that we didn’t know anyone in the crowd.
• Mile 13.1: Crossing the finish line was euphoric. I don’t know if I’ll be able to justify $15 for the 60-second video download, but the moment itself was priceless. Heather and I decided months ago that we were going to do this crazy thing and lo and behold, we achieved our goal.

Sweaty and aching, we piled onto the ridiculously packed train and made the short trip home, where we sought to obtain the greasiest pizza and coldest alcohol we could find. Now, if we can just make it through the week and slowly heal our joints and muscles, we leave for vacation this Friday and all will be right with the world. More on that later.

Update: Thanks to an intrepid geotagger on Flickr, I actually found a photo of the gospel singers that inspired us to keep going at Mile 3. Thanks, semantic web!