Amy Lu's View

….but it was mine! Yes mine, and the 6097 other people who ran Grandma’s Marathon from Two Harbors to Duluth on June 16. This was my first ever Grandma’s Marathon and my second marathon (my first was the Twin Cities Marathon in October of last year).

This morning I realized that one of those 6097 other Marathon participants was an extremely fit (and good-looking) young man and that I finished the marathon faster than he did. I promise I’m not trying to throw shade (as my brother would inappropriately say) on this young man, but just to bask in the glory of my accomplishment by using his performance as a measure.

I learned about this fellow-marathoner as I spent the morning looking through the official marathon photos and trying to decide if the photos of me were worth the outrageous price (yes, I know, professional marathon photographers gotta eat, too). I soon saw that another runner was prominently featured in many of my finish-line photos. Now, normally, I would be a little annoyed about other runners stealing my photo-thunder, but, well, this guy was pretty ripped (and shirtless).

Once I moved past that initial observation, I couldn’t imagine how he would have finished the marathon around the same time as me. So yeah, I looked up his results (I could see his bib number in the photos) and discovered I actually finished 5 minutes faster than he did.

(Big digression…if you’re wondering how we crossed the finish line at the same time but my completion time was faster, I started the marathon almost 9 minutes “late” because I had to wait so long for a port-a-potty. Yes, that’s my only complaint about Grandma’s Marathon…not enough port-a-potties! Luckily, the clock doesn’t start running on your time until you cross the start line. Still waiting for a port-a-potty was really stressful and not a great way to start a race. Luckily, I didn’t need a port-a-potty during the race).

Now Chad did explain to me that it actually made sense that I would run the marathon faster than a very muscular guy (who I also learned through my results-stalking is 23). Muscles simply weigh a lot, so this guy just had a lot more mass to move for 26.2 miles than I did. (And he may have been recovering from an injury or illness, or not have had much time for training, or a million other variables could have affected his performance).

I guess that illustrates the power of science: explaining how a moderately fit 48-year-old-lady can run a marathon faster than a really fit (and did I mention good-looking and shirtless) 23-year-old dude. And don’t get me wrong, still a wonderful accomplishment for both of us, and ALL the other 6096 finishers.

Perhaps it’s more inexplicable that I didn’t notice this guy during the race. Actually, that makes perfect sense, too…not only am I a pretty self-absorbed runner usually lost in my own head, I was quite spent by the end of the race. I didn’t have any specific pain or injuries, but I hit (or at least patted) “The Wall” at about mile 23. I finished Grandma’s in 4:02:48, about 13 minutes faster than it took me to run the Twin Cities Marathon (which, yes, I am extremely proud of and happy about) and I could definitely feel the difference between how tired I was at the end of each marathon.

So I was oblivious to the young hot shirtless guy I was running next to, but I did find the sexy, amazing man who was waiting for me at the finish line. Chad finished Grandma’s about half an hour before me (with an awesome time of 3:35:11) and gave me my medal.

The end of the race and the rest of the day is a blur of fuzzy but lovely memories. Chad and I hugged, I think we kissed, we had our photo taken, I complained about how I couldn’t use my hands because they were numb (cold? weird circulation? tension?) and I complained about how I felt like puking, we got some post-race food (bananas, bagels, etc.) and drinks (beer and cider), listened to the post-race band, spent way too much money on Grandma’s merchandise (including a super-cute stuffed hare…get it? we were fast!), and ended up at Vikre distillery to drink in earnest. (We didn’t eat real food until several hours later but, hey, priorities).

We were exhausted, and proud, and vulnerable, and teary, and beaming, and basking in the glow of the wonder of the day and each other. (And obviously, we were drunk).

And THAT was my Grandma’s Marathon.