New Las Vegas Half-Marathon

 

Since I figure a marathon or half-marathon isn't something that most people will participate in during their lifetimes, I thought I'd show you what's involved.

I ran the 2002 Las Vegas Half-Marathon and it was one of my proudest achievements. Back then, the route started way out in the desert on the way to the California state line. We all hopped on buses and were driven out to the literal middle of nowhere and told to run. We traveled along the old highway and never entered the Strip.

I was a jogger back then (note: I didn't say a 'runner', lol), and I'd been training a little bit for it. However, by the time that race began, the farthest I'd ran in one session was 6 miles, so I was a little worried about making the full 13.1. But adrenaline was very much on my side. I finished in 2 hours, 18 minutes, which probably sounds like I was crawling to all you runners out there, but again, I was a jogger and I was thrilled with the time (I'd expected 2:45). I was feeling no pain the entire time, totally riding a runner's high. Then reality struck as I was riding the buses back to the parking lot (I nearly puked) and I was in tears by the time I reached home, I was in so much agony. I had to use both hands to lift my legs over the edge of the bathtub. I promised myself I'd never put myself through that kind of torture again.

Memory is fleeting. This year I decided to signup because the route went directly up the Strip, which is fantastic. I haven't walked more than 2 miles this entire year, so I was going into it with zero training. But I figured I would be walking, so what was the big deal? Big, big mistake! lol

Anyway, this is what happens during a marathon or half-marathon.

I signed up online. The price was $100, which is fairly typical for the larger races. This race is one of the largest in the countries now, with a field of over 17,000 by the time I registered. The day or two before the race is when you do the packet pick-up. They always hold expos somewhere, where you pick up your bib, goody bag, and then can shop for race gear and paraphrenalia.

 

This expo was held in Mandalay Bay, which is where the race would start. The Expo is the best place to pick up disposable running gear, and by that I mean cheap sunglasses, cheap gloves, cheap, packable rain gear and jackets. Few garments are really long-lasting and they're not meant to be (more on that later).

Here's the packet pick-up. It's pretty cool picking up your bib number and then your T-shirt. The T-shirt was pretty lame, though, I have to say.

 

Shirt's a bit wrinkled because I took this pic after the race.

 

The goody bag was pretty skimpy. Lots of pain-relieving products, razors, lotions, energy bar, thirst-quenching gum, lots of breath products, and a ton of flyers for other marathons and products.

They always hold a carbo-loading dinner, usually in the same place as the expo. There, you can sit down to all-you-can-eat pasta and meet your fellow runners. Runners are really big on loading up on carbs before race day. I skipped this because I live here. I also skipped the option of riding a bus along the route so you'll be familiar with the terrain.

The race began at 6am on Sunday for the majority of the field. Parking would be tough with nearly 20k people all needing to be in the same place, so I left my house at 4:30. It was extremely windy, gusting, actually, so I was glad I'd brought along a windbreaker. Many people wear garbage bags so they can ditch them later on the course (more on that later).

So after sitting around with other runners inside Mandalay Bay, I made my way onto Las Vegas Boulevard (the Strip). Good thing I did so somewhat early because there were already about 10,000 people waiting.

A gazillion port-a-potties. They did a good job making a ton of these available. When I ran in '02 out in the desert, potties were scarce, so people would just run out into the desert and shuck down their shorts. People have no shame in these things, I tell you. They'll drop trou anywhere. And there's a biological reason for it, too. Serious runners have bowel movements. They need to do #2 after they run for a certain number of miles. It just happens. I'm kinda glad I was never a serious runner and had to be concerned with that.

I tried to get a shot of the sheer mass of people, but it had been raining and it showed up on my camera. And the dark didn't help, either.

Robin Leach and Blue Man Group started off the festivities at the startingline although no one could see them due to the number of people. No one really cared, anyway, they just wanted to run. Fireworks went off and the race began. It took about 7 minutes for me to finally reach the starting line and the whole group of us probably took about 15 minutes. That's why everyone is given a timing chip which you attach to your shoe. Your time doesn't officially start until your timing chip crosses the electronic starting line, regardless of what all the timers on the route say. If you're a serious runner, the start can be a little frustrating because you're walking for a good portion of it; there simply isn't room to break into a run.

But I finally cross the line amidst the cacophany of thousands of timing chips beeping in activation as we cross the electronic strip. I ran just a little bit, to make the transition smoother, but then I returned to a walk since I hadn't done any running training and it would kill me to try right in the middle of this thing.

I took a bunch of these types of photos before I resigned myself to the fact that they'd all be boring and similar.

Cops were all over the route since they had to redirect traffic in the intersections where the roads were closed. They were also there to make sure no one interfered with the race. These cops had fun with a pair of running dice.

This is just after I cleared the 2-mile water station. Water stations are a complete mess. This looks like mild litter, but in many places it's like wading through a sea of cups. It's amazingly messy. Once you grab a cup from a volunteer you're supposed to toss it to the side so it doesn't interfere with other runners but with the gusting wind and so many people in the field, the cups went everywhere.

More about the wind. It was GUSTING. I'm talking, it was blowing so hard behind us (yay for tailwind) that it actually required more energy to RESIST going with the wind and running, than it took to actually break into a run.

Another thing that shocked me the first time I ran a race like this is how much clothing gets shucked along the way. This is a relatively meager example. In some places there were piles of clothing. People strip off their jackets, sweaters, and gloves all along the route. They do this because all of their gear is cheap, temporary stuff that's meant to be discarded like this. This is the type of clothing sold at the Expo. You don't want to be weighted down with a jacket tied around your waist when it's better to get rid of it completely. So the route ends up looking like a Goodwill donation center.

Here we are running past the Fashion Show Mall. There was an Ozzie Osborne look-alike singing with a band out front, but I didn't bother getting a picture. He mocked us for walking, lol.

This is the type of high-rise where I think Max and Ethan live.

Beyond this building, we entered downtown Las Vegas, which is a total slum. It's such a bad view, lol.

Omg, I'm back at Fremont Street again! At least the lights are on this time.

The way I look in this picture scares me, but then I figure it's unsurprising considering I'm beginning to hurt in a major way by this point. By now, I've figured out where on my feet I'm going to be sporting humongous blisters and which muscles are going to be screaming at me. After I ran the '02 race, the bandages I'd wrapped around my feet as precautions were bloody. I didn't expect that this time, but I didn't kid myself that my feet would be fine.

Cool house.

At mile 9, this race became a war of attrition. It was no longer fun or visually interesting. It became a grind. It's weird being in pain and knowing you're only making it worse by continuing, but deciding to ignore it and go on, anyway. I've learned that walking 13 miles without training is worse than running 13 miles after a little bit of training. You don't ever reach the runner's high, so you never get that endorphin rush to push you through the pain. Instead, you slog through it, every step making your shins ache and your feet wince. The gusting wind is now a head wind since we're looping back now, and it's no fun leaning into the wind and having your eyes burned raw by the cold morning air.

I tried to put myself into a trance, and it sort of worked. I walked and I did everything I could not to alter the length or pace of my stride or to place my feet differently upon the asphalt. The one time that I did -- to step over a curb -- my feet shifted slightly in my shoes and suddenly my feet hurt in an entirely new way. I also didn't want to pause to take anymore pictures because in all honesty, I feared if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to start again without major pain. And yes, call me a wimp all you want, but I wasn't just strolling along, I was trying to set a pretty fast walking pace, and again, I hadn't walked more than 2 miles previous to this.

But dropping out, while an option, wasn't an option for me because I had a 70 year-old Chinese woman jogging on my left, and a 72 year-old stroke victim on my right. Come on! If these people could do it I HAD to do it. So I did.

We emerged from the slum and came back around the backside of the Strip, which is a road called Frank Sinatra Drive and runs parallel between the freeway and the Strip. Here are some strippers from the Crazy Horse Too, cheering us on.

It was nice to come around the backside of the Strip because we could see the big casino signs and gauge how close we were to the finish line.

Walking beneath the big arch of Bellagio meant we were only a few miles out.

Omg, I'm almost at the end. The full marathoners had joined up with us at around mile 24 for them (11 for us), so all the mile signs reflected the full marathon distance. I practically collapsed on this thing while some guy took my picture. At this point, the experience wasn't fun. It certainly wasn't like when I had run it, and was high on a sense of accomplishment. This was a Death March. I could no longer walk a straight line because the muscles were tighter in one leg than in the other. But I wasn't the only one having this problem, I was relieved to see. We looked like staggering drunks.

While walking this final mile, one bright spot did occur: a woman next to me saw a dollar bill on the ground and picked it up. It was the only reason I looked down and happened to see another folded dollar. I picked it up, saw a five tucked inside, and held it in my hand in case the runner who'd dropped all this came back. Of course, no one did came back since the goal was to move FORWARD, so I pocketed the money. Yay, for six bucks.

A bunch of girl drummers. They probably put on a good show but I COULD NOT STOP. Or I would fail.

The finish line ahead! At about a quarter-mile to the finish I sucked it up and ran. I had to run at least a part of this thing. So, huffing and puffing, I crossed the line, listening to the beeping as my timing chip recorded my time. The runners are funnelled down corrals to keep us moving forward.

I always find it funny that at the end of the corrals there are people sitting in front of overturned buckets, holding clippers in their hands. You're supposed to walk up, put your foot on the bucket so the person can unclip your timing chip (if you keep it you get fined $30). The funny part is that 80% of the runners crossing the line can barely walk, let along balance on one foot to get their chips clipped. People fall over all the time. I nearly did this time, too.

You keep staggering forward and finally someone hangs a medal around your neck and then wraps what looks like an alumium foil blanket around your shoulders to keep you from cooling down too quickly. I heard people complaining about the size of the medal and I have to agree with them. It was like a punch to the gut to see this tiny thing after I'd been pushing myself mentally with the assurance it would all be worth it when I recieved a big, beautiful finisher's medal. The one I'd received in '02 was about a thousand times better. I was crushed.

I got in line to have my finisher picture taken with a showgirl. I probably looked like hell considering the state of my hair after the wind and the fact I was physically exhausted. No. I wasn't exhausted, I was physically DEFEATED.

But I wasn't the only one. On the way back to Mandalay Bay's parking garage, I was far from the only one limping or hobbling around. The scene after a big race like this is like the recovery area from a minor battle. People are hunched over, people are limping. Everyone is exhausted. Those who run the course have faces caked with salt where the tremendous amounts of sweat have evaporated quickly from their skin. It's not a pretty sight, but everyone has a medal, so I guess it's worth it.

I literally fell into the seat of my car. I whimpered when I came home. I thanked the gods for my huge tub that doesn't have an overflow drain, and soaked for an hour before sleeping the rest of the day away.

Was it worth it? I suppose. It wasn't as fun as the first time I'd done it, but I suspect that was because I hadn't run the course. Also, the course wasn't as interesting as I thought it would be, and that's because I've seen the sights on the Strip a hundred times and it was old news. If I ever do this again, I will train, and I will pick a course in a city where everything will be new to me.

But hey, I have another medal. I can live with that. And one final bonus: the $6 I thought I found on the ground turned out to be wrapped around a $50 and a $10. ^__^

 

-Tricia, Dec.12, 2006