Tagged: signs

Spectators, signs, sounds and smells: memories from the 2018 Houston Marathon

Running the Chevron Houston Marathon for the second time did involve the occasional moment of déjà vu. The signing Elvis impersonators were at the same point on the course as last year – and, as in 2017, were breaking into their rendition of Suspicious Minds when I reached them.

The glorious smell of the smoked meats wafting from Goode Company BBQ on Kirby Drive was just as wonderfully, deliciously amazing as I remembered them last year.

The Rice Marching Band were not far from the university’s stadium. The person with a donut on a stick to tempt runners was in the same place as last year. The cowbells handed out by sponsor Chevron were as jingly and jaunty as in 2017. And yes, the bit of the course that traversed an interstate access road still smelt somewhat unpleasant.

But for all that familiarity, it’s amazing how different and fresh the experience of running the same marathon course in the same city on the same weekend of the year really is. So as I relax and admire my 2018 medal and T-shirt, what will I remember from the race?

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First, I was expecting to see a mix of encouraging, witty and vaguely insulting signs this time. But for every reprise of a sign saying ‘world’s worst parade’, or ‘hit me for power’ with a picture of the mushroom from Super Mario Kart, there was a fresh one – such as the sign saying ‘hit me for power’ with a picture of Donald Trump on it. Would be interested to know what condition that sign was in after the field had passed…

There were also a lot of signs – more than I remember – with variants of ‘run? I thought you said rum’ on. Is rum in fashion in Houston at the moment, or did I just miss that play on words in 2017? I’m not sure.

Another big change were the conditions. Last year’s run took place in hot, humid conditions – classic Houston weather, and hardly ideal for a Brit who’d done his training in Britain in winter. By contrast, this year it was… well, cold. And that’s cold by British standards, let alone Texan. The local news got quite excited…

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It was a beautifully clear, still day, which meant it barely above freezing at the 7am start. So instead of being able to saunter to the start in just my technical running T-shirt and a pair of shorts, this year I wore long- and short-sleeved running tops, and began with a hair and a pair of gloves. I also entered the start pen wearing a bright orange thin jumper I’d bought in Walmart for a bargain $3. I abandoned it just before the start, so it cost around $1 per ten minutes of wear I got from it – but that was money well spent to keep warm before the off. The other surreal moment was clocking someone else in the start corral with exactly the same top on. We both nodded sagely at each other, in sly acknowledgement of our bargain shopping.

That wasn’t the only clothing I discarded: my gloves and hat survived until just after half-distance, when they were tossed to the side of the road (should point out that the marathon round up all the discarded clothing and passes onto charity…). Don’t fret: it wasn’t the end of the Hat I Can’t Throw Away – I didn’t actually bring that one with me from Britain, so instead I dumped one of my brother’s old hats.

By the time I finished at just gone 10.15am, it was around 7C, gloriously sunny and with just the merest hint of wind. It was hard to imagine better conditions for running a marathon in: in fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever encounter such perfect weather for one again. And not just for the actual running bit: Houston is normally humid, muggy and sticky. But on this January weekend it was gloriously clear: the views of downtown Houston from various bits of the course were clearer than I’ve ever seen before, having regularly visited on and off since 2008. I’m lucky I don’t run with a phone, else I genuinely would have been tempted to slow down and take photos…

Returning to the crowds on the course, another memory that was similar to different than 2017 was having random spectators cheer me on by name. Which, of course, they could only do because you can choose a name to put on your Houston Marathon race numbers. Last year, I went by my first name: James. This year, I decided to stick with that, but in honour of my niece and nephew added on the name they call me: (Uncle) Jimbo. Why Jimbo? It’s a long story, but you can blame my brother and distant, long-held memories of the glorious, yet mostly forgotten kids cartoon Jimbo and the Jet Set, with its excellent theme tune…

Anyhow, as a result of appealing to two Texan-based little people, the name on my race number read: James / Jimbo. Which, frankly, confused the crowd a bit. A few people shouted James. A few people shouted Jimbo. A few people didn’t quite know what to shout.

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Early on, one spectator shouted: “Go James, er, Jimbo. Yeah, Jimbo. Go Jimbo!” Several seemed to find Jimbo suitably hilarious, likely because I didn’t really have time to stop and explain it (I was running a marathon, you know…).

But my favourite effort came from one of the enthusiastic volunteers at a drinks station late on who, at the top of his voice, yelled: “YEAH! GO ON JUMBO!” Jumbo? Now, four years ago, before I took up this daft thing called running and doing marathons, that would definitely have applied to 15-stone me (aka: Fatters). But surely not now? Perhaps he mis-read it and thought it deliberately ironic.

Still, I appreciated the support. As I did from all the people who shouted my name, or just yelled ‘go on’, or just clapped, or held up signs. You always hear sportspeople talk about feeding off the crowd, but I’m never sure I fully understood it until tackling a marathon or three. But it’s real: whether it was my family near the finish line or random strangers on the way, it’s amazing how much motivational support spectators – and, indeed, other runners – provide. So to anyone who was out on the streets of Houston a few weeks back, a very sincere thanks.

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But the most amusing marathon moment happened on a part of the course when the crowd was a little sparse. It was late in the race, somewhere around the 22nd mile when the course meandered through Houston’s Memorial Park. There’s a speaker system in there, and it was used to play music to entertain the runners. In between the music there were a few adverts and the like – including one that loudly and excitedly noted entry was now open for the 2019 Chevron Houston Marathon was now open.

It was likely useful public service, but that deep into a marathon the last thing you want to think about is entering another. Every runner around me shook their heads, laughed or both.

And, I must confess, it did get me thinking about the next one. Which was significant in itself: 22 miles or so into a marathon is normally the point I’m telling myself I’ll never run another…

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Houston Marathon reflections, part two: spectator sights and signs

This is the second in a series reflecting on the 2017 Houston Marathon. You can read the first part here.

The key to motivation, at least according to Homer Simpson, is donuts – and, of course, the possibility of more donuts to come. And that profound advice clearly struck one spectator on the Chevron Houston Marathon course.

Around 11-and-a-half miles into the course, running along Wesleyan St, I noticed a man by the side of the road waggling a big, long stick in the direction of the runners ahead of me. From a distance it seemed a little concerning, until I noticed what had been shoved onto the end of the stick: a donut. A big ring donut. He was offering runners a motivational donut.

It was, admittedly, a tempting proposition. Donuts are, after all, quite tasty. They’re also incredibly bad for you, although an excessive amount of calories isn’t really something that need concern runners approaching the halfway point of a marathon. But I declined: I’d carefully plotted out my mid-race hydration and refuelling strategy and it didn’t include donuts.

Still, a man waving a donut on a stick was just one of many memories I’ll take away from my 26.2-mile running tour of Houston. For the second in my randomly meandering series of Houston Marathon reflections (you can read the first here), I’m going to look back at some of the memorable spectator sights and signs from the event.

Before we begin, a quick note: you might notice a lack of images of the sights and signs on this page. That’s because I don’t run with my phone, so had no way of capturing them. So, er, sorry about that. You’ll just have to take my word for it…

The spectator sights

Dressing up is a big thing on the London Marathon. It’s a huge charity event, and thousands of runners raise amazing amounts of cash by completing the 26.2 miles in all manner of outlandish costumes.

The Houston Marathon couldn’t possibly live up to such fancy dress action, and it didn’t – at least among the runners. While there was some fancy dress action going on, it was on a far smaller scale (at least where I was running). But, bizarrely, what particularly stuck with me was the number of spectators wearing fancy dress. It seemed a pretty big thing, and it certainly wasn’t a trend I noticed in London (although I possibly missed it among the wall of people).

There were dancing Elvis impersonators. There were people dressed up as dinosaurs. I’m pretty sure I remember people randomly dressed up as two parts of a sandwich, for reasons I’m still not entirely clear about.

Plenty of the companies with shops and restaurants along the route also got involved. There was actual Ronald McDonald (outside a McDonald’s, obviously). The Chick fil-A cows were dancing along with a charity group. There were more, but I can’t recall them now. But to anyone who was dressed up and cheering on runners during the marathon: thanks. It really did make a difference.

The signs

Aaah, the signs. There were lots of signs. At the expo, event sponsor Chevron was giving out big card signs with ‘go!’ written on and a space to write a message underneath. I saw hundreds of them on the course, many made out to the friends or family of spectators.

Some of the spectators without a proverbial horse in the race settled for ‘go random stranger’. At one point I even managed to shout ‘that’s me’s!’ to someone holding up such a sign. She just stared at me like I was a bit odd.

There were also plenty of homemade signs, stretching from the humorous to the crude and a little bit rude. I spotted some slogans multiple times, others were very much one-offs. The Houston Chronicle has done a gallery of some signs here, but these are some examples I can recall:

You’re almost halfway there! [This was being held up about two miles into the course. Who says Americans don’t get irony?]

I bet you need to pee right now!

You’re beating all the runners behind you!

Remeber, you paid to do this! [This once was a bit cruel, so I left in the typo I spotted. Hey, I’m a professional editor, you can’t expect me to stop subbing when I’m running…]

May the course be with you [Star Wars puns never go out of fashion]

Worst parade ever! 

I trained for months to hold this sign

If a marathon was easy, it would be called your mother [Yup, I did say they weren’t all classy…]

Hit this sign for star power! 

I saw multiple versions of the latter being held out by various people – but I only had the opportunity to actually reach out and hit one. It was such a well-constructed sign that it actually hurt quite a bit. More notable was that the boy holding it called out a number to his mum – around 100 or so, if my memory is right. Given that this was after the half marathon split and I finished 265th in the marathon, that’s a mightily impressive interaction rate (well, assuming his counting and my memory were accurate…).

As with the fancy dress, some of the companies with shops and restaurants got in the spirit of things when it came to signage as well. Bike Barn on Wesleyan Plaza (close to where the guy was waggling a donut on a stick) really got into the spirit of things, sticking signage up for several hundred metres of the route. With messages such as ‘If you had a bike, 26.2 miles would only take 90 minutes’ they weren’t exactly pro-running, but they did make me laugh.

Another sign that made me laugh was the bar sign outside a bar on Washington Avenue: ‘Liberty Station loves chafed nipples’.

But, if you’ll forgive me for a rare touch of sentimental sincerity, there’s one marathon sign I’ll remember more than all the others: the one my eight-year-old niece made for me. I didn’t see it on the course – my brother ran the half marathon and finished around half-an-hour before me, so my niece was busy congratulating him when I crossed the line. But the thought was there, and my ‘go! Jimbo’ sign (yup, my niece calls me Uncle Jimbo – it’s a long story…) not only survived the flight back to Britain, but is something I’ll treasure.

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Coming soon: Houston Marathon sounds and smells (yes, smells…)