Alaska: Day 26: 7-31-93: The Marathon Ends -- Celebration, Meditation, Tribulation (Interspersed With A Healthy Dose Of Inebriation!)

Alas, it is the last day of the marathon. Has it really been 9 days? They went so quickly -- too quickly. On the other hand, I've become so close with the racers and my fellow volunteers that it feels like we've known each other forever. Has it only been 9 days?

Today was the shortest (11 miles), but most exciting stage of the race. Since it was the last leg, every one gave it everything he had -- for the leaders, it was a veritable sprint! The last few miles found the racers wheeling through downtown Anchorage past a cheering throng of spectators, who were at least 100 strong at the finish line. There is little doubt that the crowd motivated the racers to even greater speeds, as I had never seen their wheelchairs move as quickly as they did at the end (the photographs I took at the finish are probably little more than a blur!)

------------------------------------High Speed Finish!----------------------------------

As a member of "Team Quebec," I was overjoyed with the results: Michel won the day (taking third place overall) and Andre won the marathon (his accumulated time put him a full 13 minutes ahead of Tony, who placed second overall). I was very proud of Andre and Michel, and though my contribution was negligible, I like to think that, in some small way, I helped contribute to their success (i.e. by reducing their burden and stress tending to the trailer and through my role as motivator/cheerleader).

As each of the 13 racers crossed the finish line, the crowd let out a thunderous din. Victory champagne was poured on all the racers heads (and in their mouths). Everything smacked of celebration! Unable (and unwilling) to resist the revelry, I downed a shot of J.D., shared some Andre Champagne with Andre ("They named it after me," he joked) and joined in the cacophonous screams of joy until my voice was hoarse.

---------------------The Two Andres Celebrate Together----------------------

Don was amazed that every single one of the 13 racers who started the marathon successfully completed it. Barring the first race held in 1984, in which only two people competed (Don being one), this was the only time in the ten-year history of the Midnite Sun Wheelchair Marathon that all the athletes finished the course.

"Team Quebec" took a cork-popping victory photo, and partook of a group hug. We all vowed to reunite at the Summer Olympic Games in Atlanta in '96, where Andre and Michel planned to compete in the Paralympic wheelchair events. I also set a personal goal to learn a little French by that time, so that I could better communicate with every one.

-----"Team Quebec" Celebrates Victory With A Bit Of Bubbly-------

After the last (but by no means, least) racer "broke the tape," we all stumbled our way over to the outdoor amphitheatre for the closing ceremony (or, as Andre Noel called it, "Les Celebration"). All the racers lined up on stage and wheeled up, one by one, to Dionysiac applause, as Patrick announced each name and cumulative time. Here are the final standings:

Amazingly, the old course record (set in 1991) of 26 hours & 7 minutes was bested by four racers (Jeff, Michel, Tony and Andre), the latter shaving more than two and a quarter hours off that time and establishing a new high watermark for the world's longest wheelchair marathon at 23 hours & 50 minutes. I felt great for these Olympiads, but I was even more impressed with the racers who weren't world-class athletes, or even serious contenders -- the normal, everyday people in the field who just wanted to challenge themselves. I'm thinking specifically of people like Bob and Steve (finishing in the last two spots, with times more than double that of Andre), who proved without a doubt that a wheelchair is a far cry from an electric chair. And let's not forget Wayne, who, as an "unofficial racer," cranked it out each day without any chance of qualifying for awards or monetary prizes -- Hell, he wasn't even entitled to his own pilot car, so he spent much of the race completely on his own. Indeed, all the racers, regardless of their times, are champions in the true sense of the word. They have overcome what many would see as insurmountable handicaps and kicked butt in one of the most grueling athletic events in the world.


--------------------------------------The Champions------------------------------------

After the public ceremony was completed, we all gathered in the amphitheatre for one big photo -- seeing everyone packed together like that showed just what a group effort this event was. I had a bystander snap a shot with my camera, so I will have a nice keepsake when I get home!

-----------------------------------------"The Gang"-------------------------------------

After the final camera clicked, we were told we all had time to do our own "thang" before the awards' banquet at 6:00 p.m. Andre wanted to treat the entire Quebec crew, including Yours Truly, for a celebratory lunch. So we all showered (my first in 3 days -- a personal best) and changed into the one nice, clean set of clothes we each had left (it was rather strange seeing everyone looking so dressed up and smelling so fresh -- Andre looked especially debonair, and he gave us all quite a pleasant surprise when he walked to the restaurant on braces!). We ended up at The Spaghetti Factory (which was, considering how sick we all were of eating spaghetti, appropriately ironic). I had some seafood fettuccine & a Killian's Red, and we all passed around the latest race article (by our 'ol friend, Lew Freedman) as we indulged.

After lunch, I took a quick nap, and then it was off to dinner. The food was good (especially the Cajun halibut) and plentiful, but I was still too full from lunch to enjoy very much of it. Following the meal, all the volunteers were announced and thanked individually, as were the sponsors. Then Greg and the camera crew showed us a five-minute video clip of some of the footage from their documentary (It was good stuff, and I gave Greg $20 & my address so he could mail me a copy of the finished product).

Then a guest speaker named Lee Bussard took to the podium. Lee has Cerebral Palsy, and he walks & talks askew, but his message was among the most inspiring I've ever been privy to. Basically, he said that you can do anything you want to, regardless of the challenges you face -- he said that the racers and himself (a public speaker with CP) epitomize this. He wrote the word "disabled," and then removed the first "d" (for differences) and the last "d" (for denial), ending up with a truism which summed up my new friends and anyone out there who refuses to listen to the "hockey coaches" in their lives who tell them they can't do it -- is able.

The awards' presentation followed, whereupon all the racers received gold-plated "gold pans" and a lot of applause. Then came the monetary awards. After receiving his first-place check for $5,000 and a standing ovation from the capacity crowd, Andre announced that, of the five bibs he won, he was only keeping the first for himself -- he called up Merrit, Gabrielle, Andrea and Andre Noel, and handed them the other four (Andre later told me that if he had won just one more stage, he would have given me a bib, too). This gesture sums up just the kind of man Andre is.

When the ceremony was over, it was time to party! We all agreed on a location (Midnight Express) and set about rendezvousing there. Unfortunately, I had to stop back at the Challenge Alaska office to get an extra bag of stuff I had put in storage (which turned out to be a wasted trip, because Patrick had already picked it up), and by the time I arrived at the bar, everyone was leaving because the music sucked (it was nothing but country). After finding Patrick and my bag (which Renu said she'd bring right back to the UAA dorms for me), I joined Trent and Val in Trent's truck, and we followed the others to a new club. Fate was against us, however, because they wouldn't let anyone in without ID, and half of us either didn't have it with us, or have it, period. Damn!

Just as it looked as if the festivities might peter out, Trent suggested we pick up the keg & some tapes from the dorms and go to the local beach to make our own party. This sounded pretty good to some of us, so Val and I climbed back into Trent's truck, and about a quarter of the assembled group said they would meet us at the beach (The others decided to keep thinking of an alternative). It wasn't long before we realized the error of our ways. The "beach" (more like a sandy cliff overlooking the water) was pitch black (rare for a Summer night in Alaska -- indeed, the only one I'd seen on my trip) and gave way to a fifty-foot drop -- not exactly the ideal place for a bunch of drunken revelers!

No sooner had we arrived than two things became abundantly clear: 1) none of the other racers and volunteers had actually shown up (or at least, they hadn't arrived yet); and 2) others had. It seems a car filled with unsavory Anchorage teenagers had spied the beacon on Trent's truck (which, in turn, illuminated the keg of beer) and called all their fellow juvenile delinquents to come join us. Well, I kid you not when I say that about 30 cars showed up, filled with close to 100 local hoodlums (of the leather wearing, beer swigging, drug smoking variety), effectually pinning the three of us between themselves and the cliff's edge (talk about being between "a rock and a hard place"!).

Well, it didn't take long before Trent, Val and I decided that it would be in our best interest to haul some ass. So we piled back in Trent's pick-up and started backing out -- or should I say, attempted to back out, because the unseemly assemblage wasn't budging an inch. Then our worst fears were realized when a six-and-a-half-foot tank (the leader?) with a studded motorcycle jacket came up to the cab and knocked on my window. What could I do? I silently crossed myself and opened the window. Tall, Big and Ugly said: "Yo, dude! Where you going with the keg?! "Is it empty?" (Yeah, that's the ticket!). When we nodded our heads solemnly and I added a timid "yes", TBU said: "So ya goin' to fill 'er up and come back?!" (Oh shit! Think fast, Chris!) Before I could think of a response, Trent beat me to the punch: "Sorry, man," he said, "but I have to take these guys to the airport." (Not bad, Trent -- but would it work?) I held my breath and looked up at the burly gang liaison, our tenuous (and rather malodorous)lifeline. He seemed to ponder what we said for a while (no doubt considering the implications of our words, as well as [presumably] how various scenarios might play out) before simply stating: "That's too bad -- bye guys." Then he walked away. And like magic, the mob blocking our way slowly dispersed, eventually thinning out enough to permit escape. The three of us breathed a collective sigh of relief (I made a mental note to check my underwear when we got back to the dorms), scanned the back of the truck for unwanted stowaways and sped back to campus.

We were so shaken and flustered that we got a bit lost, but after a desperate (and rather comical) call to campus police via car phone, we eventually located the dorms. Trent helped Val and I unload the keg, and then he took off. Val and I, meanwhile, were quite dejected. There was no one at the dorms, and we had no means of transportation to go anywhere else. Somewhere in Anchorage there was a huge party going on without us, and all we could do was sit tight.

After about an hour, Huggy and some other Eilson guys (boy, we sure could've used their muscle back at the beach!), showed up, saying that the second bar underwent a change of heart (probably after realizing how much business they'd be losing) and "made an exception" to their ID rule, letting everyone in (I could have kicked myself!). Huggy offered to drive us back to the bar, but it was 1:30 a.m., and newly-arrived Chase (who I've started calling "Chevy") told us they closed at 2:00. Shoot! On top of all this, Renu had never shown up with my stuff as she promised, meaning it was still stashed in a red mystery car somewhere. Oh well, as Andre and Michel might say, "C'est La Vie"! At least the night was not a total loss: Val gave Chase and I relaxing massages (Lord knows I had some "stress knots"!) -- which were dutifully reciprocated -- before we all fell asleep in the dorm living room.

(Postscript: Renu finally stumbled in during the wee hours of the morning, and I got my things!)