So I have another marathon under my belt. It wasn't pretty, and none of them have been. By pretty, I mean that I don't run fast. I did 12+ miles and from the time I ran my first marathon at age 22 until now at age 58, I can say that I am nothing if not consistent in my times. I stay right around the 5:30 finish time, maybe ten minutes earlier, and once, ten minutes slower.
Aren't these medals cool? A crab. Opens. Fort McHenry on the inside. Once, when I was still on Face Book, a friend from somewhere else in the US complained about her experience at a professional baseball or football game where her team played Baltimore. She thought it was disrespectful that the Baltimore fans shouted a loud "O" for Orioles when the words "Oh" comes along towards the end of the anthem. I wanted to jump in and respond to her, explaining that Baltimore is where Francis Scott Key's poem that became our National Anthem was written. He was captive in a British ship sitting outside city listening to the "rockets red glare" and knowing that our flag still stood as long as the Brits were still fighting. Our Baltimore homies were defending the city. Like they are still today, they are rough and tough, and disdained by many so-called gentle folk across the country. People are afraid of Baltimore, our crime rate. But we are proud of our city, proud of our heritage. And our homies have a special relationship with our National Anthem. It is not a lack of respect, but a feeling of ownership, of pride. That's our song. Those are our words. The woman, the so-called friend who insulted our fans doesn't think very deeply or she'd have realized all that I just said. She is too suburbanized. She is a mall girl. She doesn't know shit.
In the picture below I am skipping along as I approach Fells Point and see Mike Beckner, the owner, and a good friend, of the B.O.P. (Baltimore's Brick Oven Pizza). He was standing at the intersection watching. I gave him a big sweaty hug. This was right around the 15 mile mark.
I love my city.
