The first guy ever to run a marathon made it 26 miles and promptly died -- not a good day for ol' Philippine. From what I know, Greeks in the fifth century B.C. tended to work out naked, so I'd like to think there was at least a pleasant breeze for the last few miles. Getting buff in the buff really could go either way, but dying is pretty much a permanent deal.
Perhaps it was this revelation that persuaded Tamara Gutamaras to put her race ticket for the Chicago Marathon up on eBay. It doesn't explain, however, why I impulsively bid for (and won) the ticket to trot the race under her name.
I have always wanted to run a marathon. My brother and father have each run several with ease. During his most recent marathon, my father made a detour for a bakery at the 16th mile, bought a fresh elephant ear pastry and kept running. I like pastry.
I hesitated to tell people I was running the 'thon'. I bought a book, and I had a treadmill, but my training was haphazard. In fact, I almost didn't run the race. Not because my shoelaces came untied or a lung collapsed, but because I had apparently skipped over the clause in the Chicago Marathon rule book (there's a rule book?) that prohibits running under someone else's name.
Finishing the race was an accomplishment. Still, it doesn't feel quite the same as when you take home first prize. It's a little like getting off a really long plane ride with 36,000 other people. You're glad you made it, but you're not the only one to get the little plastic wings. My wings were a medal, shiny and round, but I flew coach.
I hesitate to tell people about it because, more often than not, I end up feeling like a braggart or a lunatic. So I have settled on just telling people that I won the marathon. I tell them I feel bad about the Kenyan runner I had to trip near the finish line. If they disapprove, I tell them my name is Tamara Gutamaras.
The thing about running is that you can't fake it. You don't have to be smart or good looking, or well-read or rich. I found that with some practice and an inspiring 76-song play list, the rest of it just takes heart. And in some cases, miles and miles (and miles and miles) of heart. After all is said and run, I am thankful to brag that my heart and I are still racing.
