"In the day we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway American dream"

Before we get started, I'd like to point out that the Metro supermarket does, in fact, stock Alpaca jerky.

Yesterday, August 29, was a day I had been looking forward to for the better part of a month. As we are all well aware, Sunday marked the 101st running of the Lima Half Marathon. This race is actually the second oldest long distance footrace in the Americas after the Boston Marathon. And I was foolhardy enough to sign myself up and then try to run the thing without specific training. Granted, I have been running twice a week since I rolled into town, but I never focused on preparing for a 13.1 mile race. I usually run on the Malecon, a path along the sea cliffs of Lima. Since there are no mile or kilometer markers I never really know how far I've run, but I figure it's safe to assume that I log about 10 miles each time I go out (well, 3 miles might be more accurate, but tomato tomahto right?). While my lack of training might be considered lazy, I was mostly curious to see how well I could run the longest distance ever attempted by myself without proper preparation. When I showed up to the Plaza de Armas yesterday at 7am, I began to wonder whether some training might have been a good idea. The plaza was swarming with runners all in the yellow race shirt (we were told to wear the shirt otherwise we would be disqualified and put in an Iron Maiden. Hmm, maybe it was just disqualified, but I'm pretty sure about the Iron Maiden punishment too.) and engaged in a wide variety of race warm-ups. Some people were jogging, some were stretching, and some were receiving a blessing from the Priest in the cathedral bordering the Plaza de Armas. Don't say the Peruvians take running lightly.

I wandered around before the race began, mostly sightseeing or people watching. I never did any specific warm-ups for my normal runs so I didn't want to mess with success. At 7:50am the race organizers called us to the starting line to take our positions. I have not run a race in a few years, and I was shocked by the amount of technology people had strapped onto their bodies. I saw belts with tiny water bottles full of mystical elixirs, arms with iPods, chests with heart rate monitors, and wrists with pace setters. I'm sure there are benefits to using these tools, but it all seemed very excessive to me. After all, we were tasked with a very simple activity: run until you get to the end. I brought my watch to get an idea of how fast I was running but stopped checking it after a few kilometers because I stopped caring. I mostly just ran at what felt like my usual pace. Too fast and I might not make it to the end, too slow and I might suffer the ridicule of thousands of smug Limans. That left me with the seemingly smartest option of running just right.

We started out winding through some of the streets surrounding the Plaza de Armas. Even at my comfortable pace I ended up weaving ahead of many runners, and it wasn't until the 1st km that I found myself a uncluttered space to chip away at the next 20 kms. Throughout the race there were groups of people providing their support. I saw folks dressed in super hero costumes with signs saying we were the real heroes. I was greeted by chants of "Si se puede!" (Yes you can!) from clusters of local school children. The most impressive demonstration of support was outside a fire station in central Lima. They firefighters had opened their garage door and had the sirens blaring on the fire engines. On the opposite side of the street stood roughly 120 firefighters, in full uniform, lined up two-deep honoring us. I was taken aback by the gesture. It was quite a sight, but it also seemed sort of misplaced since firefighters are a hell of a lot more honorable than a bunch of sweaty joggers. Nice of them to get up early and see us off, though.

The race also provided a pleasant tour of central Lima, San Isidro, and Miraflores. I saw some familiar areas and some that were new to me. I would have enjoyed the sights of these districts a lot more if there weren't an impending mayoral election. The city has become blanketed in billboards, fliers, flags, and signs promoting the various candidates. And there are a lot of candidates. These ubiquitous advertisements are made worse by the fact that most of the candidates' pictures are terrible. I know that the United States is overly image conscious, but I don't think many of these candidates understand the negative impact a scary picture can have. Hmmm, should I go with picture where I look red and bloated, have the flash reflected in my glasses, and don't smile but instead look disgruntled? Maybe the one where I don't look at the camera and hold my arms out in a patronizing gesture that suggests spreading the wealth to my serfs? No, no, I know which one I should use. Let's go with the double thumbs up where I have a huge smile that shows that my jaw is crooked. Conservatively, 60% of the candidates' pictures are frightening/off-putting. Another 30% are mildly unsettling. The last 10% actually seem like the candidate put some thought into how best to present their image to a skeptical public (corruption is a big problem down here). Of course, what do I have blocking many of the unique sights along the run? Ugly campaign posters. Fortunately, this focused my attention on the pot-hole filled road and probably helped me avoid a twisted ankle or achy breaky heart.

The first 15 km were perfectly enjoyable. Along the way, I saw a clever innovation which I am sure is used in other races, but it was the first time for me. Runners wearing a "Pacer" shirt were interspersed with the mob and had a large balloon attached to their waist with a time on it. Therefore, you could huddle around the 1:50 Pacer and know that you would finish the race in 1 hour and 50 minutes (and you would know that the Pacer would provide you protection from larger predators in exchange for cleaning their gills and eyeballs.). Or, you could challenge yourself to run faster by exceeding the pace of the Pacers. I found these Pacers to be an informative and interactive addition to the race, and I was particularly happy when I passed the 1:45 Pacer. My modest goal was to beat a 8:00 mile pace, and I knew that if I was ahead of 1:45 I would be okay. Unfortunately, the general merriment enjoyed thus far began to wane around the 16 km mark. I was started to feel tired and began to wonder why I subjected myself to this in the first place. Each km until the finish was spent concentrating on reaching the next km marker. I tried to keep my pace consistent, but it was hard to tell because I just wanted the race to be over. Once I crossed the 20 km marker I turned on the afterburners for the final 1000 m. In the past I have usually been able to see the finish line a decent ways out, and therefore I am able to time my kick. The organizers had other plans. They had us finish the last 750 m or so in the Lima Water Park. This is a park dominated by elaborate and colorful fountains, fountains which due to their massive size obscured any view of the finish. So I wound through the park praying for the finish line to appear soon, and once I saw it I sprinted the last 150 m to cheers of adoration and awe (read: cheers for other people's family members). 141:34...nothing too flashy, but better than I hoped for. That gave me a 7:45 mile pace which was good enough to place 361/2674. Beating my goal felt good, but not as good as the babes that came to congratulate me on my achievement. By "babes that came to congratulate me," I mean the relief in my legs not to have to run any more. I would like to run a marathon some day (perhaps the Boston marathon for historical relevance), but given how I felt after only 13.1 miles, I imagine 26.2 is much worse. So I applaud you marathon runners out there for grinding it out twice as long as me and probably quite a bit faster. However, I think I deserve some credit for suffering through 13.1 miles of creepy mayoral candidates. After the race, I had a very relaxing and boozy seafood lunch at La Mar with Ashley and then took it easy for the rest of Sunday and all of Monday. Trust me, it takes some serious recovery time to get those faces out of your head.