So, the marathon went pretty well, as far as these things go. As you know, I complained bitterly in the weeks beforehand, about my toes, ankles, flatulence, laziness, etc, but it all worked out. It's still a really crappy hobby though.
Portland did put on a pretty good marathon. There were lots of water stops and the course was reasonably scenic. If I were to complain, it would probably be because that's what I do best. My list of complaints would include:
1) Do people not pee in Portland? How about a few more port-a-potties at the starting line?
2) There were lots of bands along the course, which was cool, but most of them were playing mellow low-key stuff. Who thought that an easy listening soundtrack would be the right choice for a marathon? There were a few rock bands, but mostly there was folk music, Zamfir and his pan flute, a Christian folk band, and one guy wore he saw a theremin. Terrible, just terrible.
3) At the end of the marathon, as I limped through the booths with food and what-not, it started to rain pretty hard. This happened just as my quads started to seize up. Luckily, I was just passing by a massage tent with a pretty short line. I'm not big on massage, but this would both get me out of the rain and potentially make me less gimpy. Just as I got to the front of the line, I spotted the words "L. Ron Hubbard" on a box.
Ahhhhhhh! I was in a Scientology tent!
The guy in charge started explaining "Nerve Assists" to me, and how they're beneficial blah blah blah. I couldn't pay attention because I kept noticing the word "Scientologist" on his cap. The dude let me over to "Thomas" at a massage table. I laid down, and Thomas said, "Assist Begin!" and then he stroked up and down my torso.
Boom chicka wah wahhhhhh!
After Thomas stroked my back and front, he cheerfully asked if I required any additional treatment. I replied that I was now going to give up marathoning and take up smoking.
I scrubbed extra hard in the shower later that morning to get off all the Scientology.