Louisiana Marathon Recap

The Louisiana Marathon — or as it's officially known in my skull, the Louisiana Marathon of Mimosa Consumption — was Sunday. I got up early and hauled a small tailgate party's worth of chairs, tables, and music out into the driveway so that I could collapse exhaustedly into my chair and nurse my breakfast alcohol as healthy people who had already run 23 miles (23!) that morning passed.

The first runner passed a bit under two hours after the start of the race, which worked out to a 5 minute mile pace. The last racer was some time after the race had been going on for 5 hours, and he was accompanied by the embarrassing peloton of police cars and support vehicles that follow the last runner. I need to tip the cap to the runner who was keeping himself a few blocks ahead of last place while drunk as a skunk.


V, enjoying the Louisiana Marathon of Staying In Pajamas.

The demeanor of the runners who pass is anything from ulta-serious (ignoring those of us who shout support with grim determination on their faces) to those who stop, eat, drink, and even take selfies with us. I'd love to get copies of those from over the years. A lot of the runners are super fun, and as you would expect, the further back in the race, the more fun the participants.

Stupidly, I didn't have a camera with me, and that caused me to miss two images that we would all laugh about for years to come. The first was escaped beagle Lily, with her ancient joints and 200% of ideal body weight catching sight of all of the runners passing from the spot she was back toward her house. She slipped into the stream of people and sprinted right along with them, ears flopping and tail wagging. She covered the half block as quickly as the runners and immediately flopped down for a happy rest.

My second missed image was Vanya, bored with holding out cups with water, nuts, or juice, asking if he can hold out a beer. I gave my assent, and he picked a 10oz can of Miller Light out of someone's ice chest and extended his arm into the river of runners. No one in the first wave took it, so he sprinted up the block to meet the next group. I looked up to see the 10 year old trying to force a cold beer onto the runners RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE COP who was there to block the intersection.

I called him home and explained how Dad didn't really relish the idea of sobering up in a jail cell. The officer mercifully pretended not to notice. (Pro tip: when a policeman blocks off an intersection near your house, walk down and offer him full access to drinks and bathrooms. They probably won't take you up on it, but they are always appreciative.)