I was just trying to follow the rules and get to work. Unfortunately my work often takes place on Sunday morning, marathon or no marathon. But I carefully read and studied the signage and knew that, while I generally left my house around 8:45, the main road downtown would be closed at 8:30. I would need to leave earlier.
At 8:15, when I pulled out of my parking lot, I was greeted by a line of orange cones. I rolled down my window. “Hey!” I shouted, pointing to the cones, as if this were some sort of acceptably polite way to start a conversation in which I hoped to convince someone to do something for me. It was early. But luckily my tactic totally worked, and without anything else needing to be said, the cone volunteer walked over, moved one of the cones for me, smiled, and allowed me to pass. Well. This was going to be easier than I thought.
I drove up the one block to the main road, where I was again greeted by cones and a volunteer, this time accompanied by a police officer. Even though my last plan had gone so smoothly, I decided to switch things up this time, by putting my left blinker on and, when they started shaking their heads, saying “I’m just going to work.” I thought about saying that I was going to church, since that was also true, but it occurred to me that, in a capitalistic society overrun by greed, selfishness, and general evil, I was more likely to be given a pass if it seemed like money was on the line.
My plea fell on deaf ears. Even when I said “The sign says 8:30! I have 11 more minutes!” and pointed to the sign next to them that clearly said so. Without a word, they just shook their heads and pointed me to the right. So I drove to the right…a little. As soon as I was into the intersection, I pulled a 120, turned around, and went the way I had originally intended. I didn’t look back to see if they were mad or chasing me. I figured they had better things to do, and at my trial I would have signage on my side.
Finally, I was met with an immovable moving wall of people, and I could go no further. I parked my car on the street, with still a few blocks go to till my destination, and one river of runners to cross. At the main intersection I encountered another police officer, and since I was not immediately arrested I knew that I was probably not on the FBI’s most wanted list after my previous encounter. He did tell me that I could not cross the street though. And he was mostly right. The marathon was thick as Greek yogurt, and there didn’t seem to be a space for me to squeeze through.
“I think you’re going to have to be patient and wait a while,” the officer told me with a smile that seemed to say “Boy, there are a lot of idiots out today.” But I was not doing to accept defeat. There was only one way to slay the marathon. I had to become the marathon. Walking up about half a block, I waited for a slightly thinner spot to come by. The Yoplait of the race. Seeing my chance, I hoisted my laptop bag onto my shoulder and jumped in.
I ran like a pro, weaving in and out of the other runners, who were very bad at running compared to me, since they all seemed much more tired, and they were not even carrying heavy bags or dressed in church clothes. By the time I got back down to the intersection, I had made it across the to the other side, and I quickly left the race and hopped onto the sidewalk, giving a wave to the policeman on the opposite side. He laughed and waved back. Jail avoided.
I finished the marathon with an amazing time of 42 seconds, although there is a slight asterisk next to my record, since I did not technically complete the full distance. But it sure felt like I had. I was ready to collapse, and nobody was waiting to hand me any water or anything. But the point is, I made it to workchurch on time, and I ran in the marathon, so it was a win all around. And also I am in terrible shape.