9th Annual Gutenberg (Half-)Marathon

Let me set the scene:

After a long, fun, tiring weekend, Ben and I meet up with Flo on Saturday night for a drink at Schroeder's, a bar in Mainz. One drink magically, inevitably, turns into more drinks. Like a college boy at a frat party, Flo assesses our susceptibility and, sensing weakness, springs the question:

I have to leave for a class trip tomorrow -- you want to take my place in the Gutenberg Marathon?

Do fish want to hike mountains? Do bunnies want to play cards with lions? Do monkeys want to perform dental work on sharks? Do girls want to cuddle with spiders? Anyone who knows me knows what my answer to such a ridiculous question would be.

As someone who despises running, I'm not suited for a marathon. I had told Flo as much when he asked me the same question about a month ago. I told him the same thing Saturday night. Unfortunately, there was an X-factor: Ben.

Ben's an enabler.

Ben is extremely competitive, especially under the influence. When he found out we had the chance to run a half-marathon, you could practically hear the little bookies in his head start figuring the odds on their adding machines. All of a sudden it was two against one, as Ben was now completely on board with Flo's idea of us doing this.

Well, I hate running, but I hate missing out on new experiences too, and I'm the highly suggestible type, so you can imagine my protestations were as effective as an umbrella against a tsunami.

Once I had caved and we started considering our emergency options such as walking or simply giving up, Ben came up with an even better idea of how we could destroy our bodies: betting that we could beat Flo's time from last year. At stake was a case of beer, and all we had to do was run faster then 2 hours, 45 minutes. So much for emergency options.

So it was decided: I would run as Florian Kaerger while Ben would try to run as Flo's girlfriend, Sandra. I had no problem passing as Flo, but the officials weren't buying Ben's eyelash-fluttering and flirtatious giggling, so he had to run unattached. It wasn't a problem anyway -- that only meant he wouldn't get an official printout of his time at the end.

We got to bed at 3 AM, and all too soon it was 6:30 AM and the alarm clocks were blaring. We slowly got our stuff together and walked sleepily through the city to the Rheingoldhalle, where the whole thing was starting. I checked in, we stretched for five minutes, and eventually we found the starting area. Through it all I was asking myself, "What am I doing?" a question that I couldn't shake even 10 minutes, 20 minutes, 30 minutes into the race.

But a strange thing happened. I considered the crowds lining the streets, cheering us on; the picturesque Rhine running alongside us; the gorgeous weather; and the thousands of other fools trying to conquer the same 21 kilometer (13.1 mile) half-marathon, just like me. Slowly, as slowly as our pace, but surely, I found myself enjoying the experience. It hurt and there were boring stretches, but it was incredible. I guess that's what they call the Runner's High. I always assumed that was a reference to the drugs someone had to be on to think it's a good idea to run a marathon -- I mean, some people think they can fly, some people think they can run 42 kilometers (26.2 miles) without stopping. But apparently I can run a half-marathon.

And I must say, the banana slices they gave out at water checkpoints along the way were the best bananas I've ever eaten in my life. Best. Bananas. Ever. Seriously, those became my life support, and every time I got to grab a glass of ice cold water and a half a banana, everything was right with the world. Same with the free food they passed out at the end: pretzels, energy bars, and apple slices have never tasted as delicious as they did right then.

Oh, right, I guess I gave away the ending: I finished. 2 hours, 25 minutes, and 24 seconds, baby, good enough to get me...uh, well, 6707th place. But all things considered, I'm more than satisfied. Ben had a little trouble at one point late in the race, stopped, and almost gave up, but he realized how far we'd come and got his ass back in the race and finished too, with a time of about 2 hours, 45 minutes. To his immense credit, he was running in the world's WORST sneakers, completely falling apart, and I have no idea how he did it. He'd have been better off running barefoot.

We got medals for finishing the half-marathon, we'll be getting a case of beer from Flo, we got a magnificent feeling of accomplishment, and we got one majorly strange story out of the deal. And now I can retire from the marathon scene. As one clever soul remarked, there's got to be a better way to get a case of beer.

(We didn't get any pictures unfortunately, but see a bunch here)