Going the Distance : For This Marathoner, the Finish Line Is a Melancholy Place

Now that the 1996 Los Angeles Marathon is over, I keep thinking about postpartum depression.

No offense meant to women who know the real thing. It’s just that after seven months of intense training, accompanied by lunging dogs, reckless motorists, careless co-runners, relentless fund-raisers and tireless self-promoters, finishing my first marathon has me a little worn out.

It’s a strange kind of fatigue.

I feel super about running 26.2 miles for the first time. And the cheering masses, the bands, the water and Gatorade stations along the route on Marathon Sunday were all greatly appreciated. Believe me, all that was greatly appreciated.

But in a way--maybe a sick kind of way--I’m also feeling a bit down now that I’ve crossed the finish line. It’s almost as though I’m going to miss some of the pain-in-the-neck experiences that plucked my nerves during 30 weeks of marathon training.

Sick, huh?

Maggi, my wife and training partner, laughed at the thought of missing our early-morning runs through Glendale four days a week and along the beach in Venice, Santa Monica and Marina del Rey on Saturdays.

“I’m just tired,” she said with a chuckle.

Our marathon time, thanks mainly to my severe leg cramps, was 4 hours, 45 minutes.

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Our marathon experience started in August, when we joined the L.A. Roadrunners program organized through Orthopaedic Hospital in Los Angeles. It’s one of the best-known marathon training organizations around and features popular instructor Pat Connelly as coach.

For $50 each, we teamed up with several hundred other adult runners and walkers who turned to the Roadrunners for a regimen that would gradually build our endurance to marathon standards. Training schedules and lectures were available to all members, along with water and bananas on Saturdays.

The Saturday crowd had all types, all ages.

Many participants, whether thin or chunky, generally fit nicely into their shorts and tank tops. Others at times pushed their seams frighteningly close to the outer limits.

Judging by their warmup routines and running styles, some folks were brand new at lacing up a pair of Nikes and hitting the road. Others laughed easily about their past marathon experiences as they stretched.

Maggi and I were physically fit, but neither of us had ever run more than five miles in a single day. It was her idea to try the marathon. That opened the door for me to tease generously whenever there was a temptation to skip a training day by staying in bed.

“You better get up, kiddo,” I said to her more than once. “Who said, ‘I wanna run a marathon’? Rise and shine. It’s a 90-minute run today.”

Overall, the training program was extremely beneficial. The drawbacks included seemingly never-ending calls from the hospital for donations as well as Connelly’s repeated peddling of his book on running.

Some folks were offended enough to complain.

*

Of course, a crucial part of anyone’s marathon preparation is logging miles on the road.

Eating right and drinking plenty of water helps, but building up the strength and endurance to finish the race means doing the workouts--and that can be dangerous.

Threatening obstacles were everywhere. Among them: reckless motorists, barking dogs with serious attitudes and often messy sidewalk deposits, pedestrians who panic at the sight of a jogger, and other runners who are oblivious to the world around them.

Maggi, a petite woman, was the first to hit the pavement.

On one of our Saturday runs, just minutes after the Roadrunners headed north from Venice Beach, a male runner coming the other way plowed into her. She stumbled backward and fell, dazed.

I quickly picked her up, balled my hand into a fist and stared at the guy, who stopped after running a few more steps following the impact.

“I’m sorry,” he said to me. “I didn’t see her. There was no place to go. There were too many people.”

I accepted the apology and tended to Maggi, who continued the run after shaking her head clear.

On another day, I took a spill while running alone. I was moving at a healthy pace near Glendale Community College as students were arriving for morning classes. The sidewalks were somewhat crowded, but most people politely cleared a narrow path.

All of a sudden--trouble.

One young woman saw me coming, but she stood her ground in the middle of the sidewalk like a linebacker. I tried one of my best NFL moves to get around her, and I did, although the effort left me stumbling off balance.

The result: scraped, bloody hands.

“You all right?” was all I remember hearing from one of the students.

There were plenty of other close calls.

One morning, a dog who looked an awful lot like a wolf leaped up and snapped its jaws at Maggi one morning, grabbing a mouthful of sweatshirt.

Too often the danger came from motorists. I lost count of the number of times we were nearly hit because drivers simply did not look both ways before exiting driveways or crossing intersections. In fact, I got into the habit of running slightly ahead of Maggi at times and waving my arms in order to make sure we were seen.

“Some people are just plain stupid” became a common refrain for us.

Our last run before the marathon, which made me recall some of the mishaps with a laugh and wonder whether I’d miss it all, was Thursday.

“Well, congratulations. We finished the training,” I said to my partner. “That’s an accomplishment no matter what happens Sunday.”