MARATHON FLUID DIARY
Originally published in Fishwrap Magazine, Issue #1, Spring 2001.
10/14/00
I’m training for the Chicago Marathon. After 6 months of running 20 miles a week, I’m doing the last long run with my pace group before we leave town for the race. When we run we all have water bottles attached to our bodies. Number one conversation topic during our runs: Drinking and Peeing. If your pee isn’t clear, you’re not drinking enough water. Mine hasn’t been clear in a few days. I’m on pain medication that dyes it orange and I’m cranky and if one more person tells me to hydrate today, I will explain that I have a urinary tract infection that makes piss feel like slivers of glass flowing through a stream of lava. Of course, they tell me, and I tell them back, and their sympathy helps, but not much. I don’t feel like drinking anything.
10/20/00
Menstruation, right on schedule. I’ve started to think of my body clinically. I am an agent for the expulsion and consumption of fluids. But then, that’s always been true.
10/21/00
4:00 a.m.
I reach across the bed to shut off my alarm and knock over a 20 oz. bottle of water. My mouth is sealed shut. Bad sign. I drink what’s left of the water and refill. I swallow the last of the antibiotics with cranberry juice. I pee yellow now.
5:20 a.m.
Airport coffee is mucky but it’s early. I had red wine with last night’s dinner and I’m drowsy. I run with people who have sworn off both coffee and alcohol until they’ve finished the race. I drink enough water to even things out and plan to have a Bloody Mary during the flight.
8:30 a.m.
Breakfast is orange juice. I can’t monitor the color of my urine on the plane because of the blue whirlpool in the chrome magic toilet. Other runners have noticed this as well and are more disturbed by it than I am. I’ve adopted this preoccupation and am confident I’ll stop worrying about it once we’re done with the marathon. Waiting for lunch, I dissect a blood blister on my left big toe. Although almost everyone around me certainly has blisters, most of them seem repulsed by mine.
3:00 p.m.
At the Race Expo I sample 2 new flavors of some sports drink. I eat Gu and PowerGel. These may or may not count as liquids and they only taste OK when you’re running.
8:00 p.m.
One martini is not going to keep me from finishing the race tomorrow. I’m not surprised that I’ve managed to convince some of my friends that they can have one too. But they reprimand me for requesting extra olives. The last time I ran 26 miles a dusting of white crystals coated my body when I finished. I still don’t know whether that meant I’d been eating too much salt or my body just got rid of what I had the way it’s supposed to. I know I’ve been dehydrated after runs but some people say you need salt, and other people warn you about how it can make you shrivel up inside and get crampy. I haven’t figured it out yet so I’m not going to worry.
10/22/00
6:00 a.m.
I attempt to visit Dunkin’ Donuts on my way to the marathon, but it’s not open yet. Since I’ve arrived here I’ve had four cups of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. My favorite from back East and they don’t have it in L.A. so I’m getting it while I can.
7:30 a.m.
During the race I drink at least a gallon of water and I pee once. All of the water stops are slippery and dangerous; waxy paper cups half-full of water and Gatorade slide under our feet as we weave through the mess of runners.
12:30 p.m.
At the finish line, just past the water and granola bars and bananas, is the Sam Adams truck. I’m too cold to drink beer but my friends who’ve been depriving themselves of alcohol head straight for the taps. I drink orange juice. Lots of people are crying, some from elation and some from pain.
2:00 p.m.
I stand in the shower and open my mouth and drink and pee at the same time. I can’t see the pee; all I see is water swirling down the drain.
The National AIDS Marathon Training Program is a six-month physical conditioning schedule consisting of three days of running each week. Participants are required to maintain their running schedule and raise money to benefit people living with HIV/AIDS in Los Angeles.
