Category Archives: personal

This was supposed to be my “real” post about the Boilermaker. You know, where I documented in well thought out, well written fashion my running of the famous 15K. Yesterday’s wrist to forehead post was giving myself a break because I was so tired.

Well, I don’t know that I can do much better. I’m looking back on the race and my memories are not coherent. I see it in flashes, like one of those choppy movie trailers that drive me crazy. The lone fellow with the trombone. The sign that said, “Catch Those Kenyans.” The nice folks that yelled, “Go, Supergirl!” (I wore a large yellow t-shirt with a Superman S.) All the high fives.

At the start of the race I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people. Of course I went in expecting a crowd scene. I made up today’s headline weeks ago. It’s a combination of intimidation and exhilaration. And it’s much easier not to think too much about ALL the runners, but to exchange remarks with the runners right near you. This being Middle-aged Musings Monday, I could go on to philosophize about how we wouldn’t have problems with prejudice if we could deal with each other as individuals, not falsely homogenized groups. Perhaps another Monday.

Instead I’ll share an anecdote about the porta-potties. Of course I had to pee before the race. Anybody who knows me knew that. And if you’re going to point and laugh, you have a lot of other people to point and laugh at as well. Advance publicity bragged on how many porta-potties they would have. Not being entirely naive, I knew I would be waiting in line and hoped to get to the starting place early enough to allow plenty of in-line time.

As it turned out, I only had about a half hour. I got into a line and hoped for the best. Slowly, slowly we moved. Of course I fell into conversation with the lady behind me. The line stretched across the patch of grass the potties were on, across a road, and onto the opposite patch of grass.

“We’re at the first curb!” I announced, elated. It took a long time to get to the second curb, but we finally made it. We were still four people away from the holy grail when they announced that the runners should be in the starting bins by now. I knew how many people were in my bin, the last bin, so I stubbornly stayed in line. The lady behind me said she’d wait and fled. Two or three girls behind her decided to check out the bushes behind the porta-potties. I waited.

And waited. As did many others. We all encouraged each other to hurry. When a door opened, everybody behind the next user yelled, “Go! Go!” One potty had a lock that didn’t show red when it was closed, which caused some consternation in the crowd, because we were all thinking it was unused and wasting precious seconds.

I started to laugh. I explained to the others waiting, “We’re about to run this major 15K race, and all I’m concerned about is this 10 foot sprint to the porta potty. Let’s go! Will I be fast enough! Don’t make us wait!”

I was as fast as I could be. In fact, I was still pulling up my spandex as I came out, but I don’t think I flashed anybody.

It was on to the race. Of course, it was still a ridiculous length of time before I got to the starting line, by which time I was finally able to start running, slowly. The field opened up little by little as we covered the first mile. Thank God for wide streets! And it was like an accordion: now plenty of room, now a little thick. Everybody was good-natured about it, though. I apologized each time I thought I had cut somebody off or bumped somebody.

“You’re all right,” I was assured. I had occasion to offer the same assurance to others.

I began the race saying it would be my last Boilermaker. By the third or fourth mile I was saying, “This is awesome! I’m going to run EVERY Boilermaker!” We’ll see if I actually do. At any rate, it gives me something to blog about.

Said in a dramatic tone of voice, with a wrist to my forehead.

I ran the Boilermaker this morning. Perhaps I use the term “run” rather generously; however, I did not walk and I did not stop. I’m a little tired.

I intend to write a lengthier post later. In the meantime, I’ll share a few highlights of some silliness I amused myself and (I hope) others with during the race.

Towards the end of the race, when most of us were looking a little dicey, I heard bagpipes playing up ahead.

“Wait a minute!” I said. “Don’t they play bagpipes at FUNERALS?”

It got a laugh. In fact, I love bagpipes and these were very well played. I find the mournful tone especially poignant at funerals, but I do like them other times as well.

Somebody was a little worried they’d run out of beer.

“That’s all right,” I said. “There’s beer at my house. You can ALL come over!”

“I love you!” I actually don’t know if the guy was saying it to me in response to the offer of beer, but I like to think he was.

I yelled, “Promises, promises!” to anyone who told me or showed me a sign that read it was all downhill from here. For anybody thinking of running the Boilermaker in the future: just remember, when they tell you it is all downhill from here, they are usually lying. Or perhaps merely withholding the truth out of misplaced kindness.

I saw a sign that said we were halfway there and got all happy. Then I saw the sign below it saying “Almost!”

“You got my hopes up!” I accused. That got a laugh.

At one point, I turned to the friend I was running with and said, “I would probably be less out of breath if I shut the hell up for a while.” I did not, however, test that theory.

I see by my word count I am up to 300 words. Not a great blog post, but I believe adequate for the purpose. In my defense, I still haven’t gotten my beer. You know, the beer they promise you the whole way you’re running. I knew I probably wouldn’t. It’s funny how it still motivated me. It was, in fact, the idea of finally getting my beer that induced me to write this silly blog post. I’ll let you know tomorrow if I actually get it.

Getting ready for the Boilermaker seems to have a deleterious effect on my writing.

OK, when was the last time you used the word “deleterious” in a sentence. I can’t remember ever having done so. In fact, before I post this I’d better look it up in the dictionary to make sure I’ve used it correctly.

Yesterday my sister and two of my nieces accompanied me to the Boilermaker Expo at Mohawk Valley Community College to pick up my number. Actually picking up the number was the easiest part. No lines, no waiting, very organized. I amused the lady that got me my bib by declaring that I had been given my lucky number: 12139. What are the odds? (Of me saying something silly like that? Pretty good.)

Then I got into two wrong lines and spent a long time in the right like to get my free stuff. We had gotten to the Expo shortly after it opened, but we did not beat the crowds. When I finally got home I drank some Gator Ade over ice in my new Boilermaker glass.

This morning I went for a short, easy run. And I’ve been drinking water, thinking, “I’ve got to write my blog post,” ever since. Finally I got myself some Gator Ade over ice in my new Boilermaker glass (which I had washed; so I guess I haven’t done nothing all morning. I did the dishes). Sometimes it helps. This time, not so much.

Some readers may be looking forward to me running this race and having done with. Then I might stop with the All Boilermaker All The Time and get back to varied Mohawk Valley Adventures. I submit, though, that the Boilermaker is an excellent thing for Mohawk Valley Girl to plug. It is a majorly local, home grown thing. I was even reading in the paper this morning that most of the sponsors are local businesses. What could be better? I’d like to list them all. For one thing, it would add considerably to my word count. However, there are a lot and I don’t want to leave anybody out.

So this is another dull post, for which I am sorry. I looked up “deleterious” in the dictionary, and it seems I did use it correctly. I make no promises for tomorrow. After all, I’m going to run 15Ks. Maybe by Monday or Tuesday I’ll be back to normal. Stay tuned.