The first annual Georgia ING marathon and half-marathon were held today. I’m not one hundred percent sure what possessed me to agree to get my ass up to watch. This wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that when I got home after an evening of hanging out with my friends and settled into relax I thought to study the runner’s route a bit more carefully… only to discover that the marathon makes a perfect and all encompassing loop around my apartment complex. This meant that I had to get up and get out of my place before there were 15,000 sweaty stinky people blocking me in.
I just have to preface this all with the fact that I’ve been to the Boston marathon several times to cheer on the runners. Wellesley sits at the halfway point of the marathon at the top of Heartbreak Hill. Imagine at the exact moment you want to die and chop your own legs off you hit what’s known as the scream tunnel. Basically it’s both sides of the road packed 3 deep with scantily clad screaming women. I know of many an encouraging kiss that was given out on that route. So anyway, I nervously arrive at the appointed meeting spot ready to fight off the other onlookers for a spot, which I will guarantee with my lawn chair, a box of Munchkins and several iced coffees. Well, this was completely unnecessary since I was the only person on Peachtree as the first guy came sprinting by in a blur.
I soon realized that I had become a point of interest for a passing family. I turned as the dad is in a full crouch taking a picture of me. I smiled and he said “Oh, I hope you don’t mind, we’re from up north and I’m just loving the way people are down here in the south.” That’s when I had to break the bad news and say “I recognize your accent, where are you from?” Oh, he was from a small town just south of Boston. Well, that’s just fantastic… he thinks I’m some cute southern gal politely cheering on my fellow southerners… when actually I’m about to become a very loud Yankee screaming for four straight hours.
We were so loud that the openly liberal, gay-friendly Lutheran church we had camped out in front had to come ask us to move. Picture the sight of a minister in full Sunday robes running across the street, dodging marathoners to come ask us to, and I quote, “Please move down half a block in either direction… not that God is asking or anything, but he would appreciate it.” Clearly we are still not at Boston marathon level yet… up there the good Irish Catholics come out en masse to cheer the runners on with Guinness in hand on the day of our lord. I’m pretty sure the priests are probably out there blessing the route.
I think next year will be better and there might even be two groups of people out on Peachtree to cheer on the runners.