The Akron Half Marathon makes me want to smoke pot

Official time: 01:48.38

My half-marathon split last year in New York was 2:00.17. And I took the first half much faster than the second half, I added fifteen minutes getting to the finish. So the big question was whether I could break two hours this time out. If yesterday was any indication, it wasn't going to happen.

I must have spent over four hours in my car yesterday, from home to Shaker Square, then to the offices downtown, to the rehearsal space, out to the far West Side, back to the rehearsal space, to dinner with the wife, out to Akron to pick up registration materials and back home again.

I do not like driving Akron after dark. I can't get the hang of the one-way streets in broad daylight.

At night the kids were wired, full of anticipation of the following day's activities, and the wife was also truly wrung out and exhausted. How could we put everyone down for the night, prepare for a day on the road including assmelbing all the necessary race clothes and materials?

The only solution was none at all. I put them to bed, and slogged through, cleaning up, making sandwiches, laying out my gear, pinning on my bib number, double-checking everything. There would be no time to do any of that in the morning, and I was already planning to wake at 4:30. I went to bed at 11:30. Five hours of sleep before a Half Marathon.

Of course, I was up checking the clock every hour, then every half-hour. Rolled out a little after four. Got my wife and the kids in the car by five-fifteen, and she drove me to the starting line by a little after six. I'd made it. Now all I had to do was run.

After a day spent in a car, the idea of two hours of exercise out of doors sounded like bliss, no matter what shape I was in, though I had to admit I felt pretty good. I'd had coffee, an energy bar, a sunbutter sandwich and mixed my first batch of Accerlerade.

Wow, that stuff tastes like ass.

At the tent I also had a banana, some Gu, water and Powerade. I was full of running product. Two trips to the port-o-johns (remembering to force myself to exonerate my bowels, which I was in no mood to do) and dropped my bag with the FedEx people, forgetting to keep my lip balm with me or apply and body glide. Luckily, I did not come to regret lacking either.

I won't say the run was easy, but it was a breeze compared to a full marathon (or as one announcement put it, the "real" marathon, which was kind of a pisser.) In the attempt to make two hours, I did a quick calculation an decided to start with the 8:24/mile pace team. This was also the 3:40 Marathon pace team, so I figured if I could keep that sign in my sights, I would make the run in 1:50.

Much to my own surprise, I not only kept the sign in my sights, I kept it right in front of me almost the entire way.

At mile 4 the race went past the photo lab where I broke my heel in April, 2005. That was a marvellous surprise, and a delightful vindication.

At a water stop at mile 5 I was frightened by a blonde woman in a pink top who began running the other way at the end of the water line screaming "Oh my God! I missed all of them!!!"

There were two marching bands at high schools, a steel drum band on steps at U of A, and a live blues band in someone's front yard. All of them were playing songs like Everything's Gonna Be Alright and Low Rider and others with strong drug associations. Where are the Techno marathons?

At mile 6.6 I grabbed one too many Gus, but I still have the one I didn't consume, I tucked it in my waste band. God, are those vile ... but extremely effective. By mile 9 I needed to pass a drink station (I had been alternating, water, Powerade, water, Powerade ...) because I finally began to feel a little bloated and like I actually needed to sweat a little more. That, and I was beginning to need to pee.

At mile 11 the "real" marathon and the Half Marathon split. There were far more of them, and we were sent in a much spottier line down the highway. I shared with some of my fellow travelers the fear that this was a big joke, and they were just sending us losers down the highway with no real finish anywhere.

Keeping my own pace, without a "pace leader" was not as difficult as I'd feared, and as we turned into Canal Park Stadium, I actually sprinted, passing several people. The clock at the finish had passed 1:49 (not my time, it took a minute for me to reach the start - chip technology is really super) and I really didn't want to go longer than 1:50. So I didn't.

There's more ... the girl ran the Kids 1K which started, or was supposed to start, at 9 am. I not only made the run, which they did not expect, but it took over a half-hour for the kids run to commence. I can carp more about that later. The good, great news is I got a PERSONAL BEST, my feet are in excellent shape, no blisters, no bleeding (anywhere) and, well, hey. What's next?

What happened next.

Distance: 1 mile
Time: 4:30pm
Weather: 63º sunny

The ING NYC Marathon is an extremely well-planned event ... until you cross the finish line.

It is strongly recommended that ou walk at least 20 minutes after the race, so your blood can redistribute itself and you don't cramp up and have a heart attack and die and everything. Unfortunately, once you cross the finish line, you meet a wall of other runners, funneled into a fenced-off road, shuffling their way along as hundreds of new runners pile in behind you.

You get your medal. They hand you a bottle of water. They give you a cup of Gatorade. They hand out those thin metallic blankets (you are hot and sweaty, but now cooling rapidly on a shady thoroughfare - remember, it's fifty degrees) and a tab to close it. They clip off your chip.

Shortly after getting my blanket, I began getting very emotional, thinking of see ing my wife, my children, at the family reunion area. And then I started feeling faint. What could be the matter? Then I realized I wasn't getting enough air. I went from four and a quarter hours of heavy exertion to a near-standstill (I wanted to be briskly walking so badly) and I wasn't taking in enough air. I looked to my left and saw all of these guys - men as fit as me, or better - lying on the ground, being assisted by medical personnel holding their feet up. I did not want to pass out. I began breating as steadly, but as fully as I could. I held my hand before my eyes for something to focus on (thank you, Louis Colaianni.) I did not pass out.

The UPS van that my personal bag was in was perhaps the longest walk from the finish line. I gather my items, fished out the complimentary Tylenol 8 hour and took it. I walked out to 77 St. to the family reunion area for people with a last name beginning with "H." I walked up the street, searching for my boy, my girl. I pictured a tear-felt reunion, Z. running towards me with O. following after.

They were nowhere to be seen. I got my cellphone out of my bag. My wife said they were caught in the park, there was no way to get to where I was, not with any speed. Could I head up Columbus Ave. to 85th Street?

So I did. My dry, warm clothes were with them. I shuffled down Columbus Avenue, glassy-eyed and shivering, like some homeless guy. Except everyone I passed was saying "Congratulations!' and "Great job!" People leaned out the windows of their cars to wish me well. The homeless don't generally get that.

Before dinner, I took a nice long shower. Each foot had a large, painful blister where my corns are. And though I never believed I had any use for any kind of Body Glide or Vaseline - never having suffered any kind of chaffing when running 18 or 19 miles - I now knew what is was for, and where.

As Brooke Shields said in The Blue Lagoon, I was bleeding. Down there.

This evening I took my first recovery run. I felt I could go forever, the evening was so beautiful. But after a half-mile, I knew this was not the case. But at least I know now that I will be a runner for life.