Marathon Talking Script

I followed this script tightly in some places, loosely in others in order to make it more "talky." Only some of the sound effects are noted.


BANG

A sea of thirty-three thousand push towards the start, a surreal mass of lean butts, bunchy calves, and nervous chatter. To our left looms the Chicago skyline. We inch towards the start line, and it is here I realize that this run…well, it's going to be different. Now, I didn't cry when Bambi's mom died. But right now there's tears burning my eyes. I can't stop grinning. And as our chips bleep activation as we cross the start, a crazy, wild thought slips through my head: I think: Man, this is so cool that 26.2 might not be enough.

Boy was I wrong.

Mile 1: We gallop into the tunnel. I'm weaving in and out of runners (Excuse me, pardon me) – lateral movements that will only increase the already daunting distance. (Mile 2) But I can't slow down. It's magic: the runners' whoops and yells creating a distortion that knots us all together. (Mile 3) The flushed crowd pressed against the sides of the course.

Cow bells chime. Posters flap in the wind. (Mile 4) "Go runners!"
I see a man in an Illinois shirt. "I-L-L" I yell. (Mile 5)
"Free Beer, Free Beer." Four young men are handing out Natty Light. (Mile 6)
We pass bands – "Ain't nothin' but a hound dog" (Mile 7, Mile 8, Mile 9)
Cheerleaders – "2-4-6-8 Who do we appreciate! Runners, runners, goooooooo runners!"

Mile 10 (Mile 10): Chicago-strong. The city of my birth, of Byron's hot dogs, (Mile 11) my Navy Pier prom, of Cubby blue (Mile 12) and fat cat crime. This…this is finally really it. (Mile 13)

And then I hit halfway. The surreal cloud nine that carried me here goes out with a (Poof) and now there's only this searing sun of late morning. My legs ache. (Mile 14, Mile 15, Mile 16) "Go Eric!" My mom and dad. Gulp back the pain, run over, give my dad a high five.

(Mile 17) From the loudspeaker: "We have now elevated the alert level from yellow to Red." Red is one level below black, which means race cancellation.
(Mile 18) I yell at myself: "Come on you will-less, pathetic noodle. Tenacity!"

(Mile 19) My endurance is gone. I've got nothing left for these seven miles.

(Mile 20) : I take a mental snapshot of myself. There's the hot puddle my right foot keeps squishing in. (Mile 21) Probably blood. There's the spasms that freeze my whole leg at once. Can't bend my knee. I have to stop and stretch it out. (Mile 22) But it keeps coming back. It's then that I realize that a Marathon is little more than four months dieting on bite-sized pieces of self-inflicted pain (Mile 23) to prepare yourself for a big wallop of hurt that hits you with a sledgehammer. (Mile 24)

Screw Chicago. Screw it. Screw it all. The pain, the heat, the puddle of blood in my right shoe. Just let me stop. Just let me rest. (Mile 25) I have nothing left. I am slowing down. People I've passed are passing me. Old people, overweight people, nails in my pride. I am too exhausted to do anything about it.

(Mile 26) The finish line. A corral of screaming people. I kick, pump, eyes burning towards the end and kill the Joker who tacked on that last .2

I realize how, dreamless, helpless, how simple my life is. The pain has whittled away my dreams. I haven't been this happy in years.