I'm Sore from the Marathon

This year they changed the route of the Los Angeles Marathon.

Instead of starting at Universal City and winding its way through the bowels of Hollywood to the unkempt neighborhoods of Koreatown to the unsafe streets of East Los Angeles, the organizers of the race thought it would be better to redirect the route westward, to the posh pockets of Holmby Hills, Brentwood and Santa Monica.

Granted, this is much more visually appealling journey, but I suspect the change is purely cosmetic. It was done more for the spectators and not for those actually pounding out the 26.2 miles.

I can only speak for myself, but during those grueling 5+ hours, I'm not checking out the aesthetics of Southern California.
I'm not thinking, "Oooh, look at those lovely Eucalyptus trees. Those landscape architects did a wonderful job framing the Santa Monica mountains like that."

And I know from the pained faces on my fellow runners, they're not thinking that either.

The inner voices sound more like, "Damn I'm only at Mile 7. That's 19 more to go." Or, "I knew I shouldn't have eaten that breakfast bar. I'm only at Mile 14. My sphincter muscles are not gonna hold out for another 12 miles." Or, "Only Mile 19? Wonder if I can call a cab from here?"

In any case, for all that agony, I wish I had run the LA Marathon yesterday, but my creaky knees have made any long distances impossible.

Wait a minute, Rich.

Doesn't the headline of this post read, "I'm sore from the Marathon?"

Indeed it does.

I'm still sore from the Marathon I ran two years ago.