Expo Extraordinaire

I've seen some race expos over the years. My first was the Cincinnati marathon, when my roommate J__ actually bought shorts from one of the racks. I'd never imagined doing something so spontaneous with one's wallet. Expos have seemed to get bigger as time has passed, which may be because I'm running bigger races or it may be because vendors realize people want proof they were here, and they're willing to pay for it. Expos aren't really about running. They're spontaneous shopping malls. True story: at the National Marathon/Half expo three weeks ago, the busiest vendor was the McDonalds booth.

But compared to those flea markets, this place is insane. Number pick-up is the same as at any overstuffed big-city race, but here the volunteers look like marathoners themselves. I guess if I lived here I'd volunteer. I ask if mine is the winning number (I love that gag), but she was ready. "They all are." I'm somewhere in the 5000s, which lets me go with the first wave. But that first wave is 9000 runners, which is a major marathon in itself. (I've been doing a little research on the finishing times. If I hit my "A" goal, I may have a shot at a top 1300 finish, and I'll be running in a crowd across the line.)

You then exit from there into the paraphernalia room, with racks on racks of gray, lime green and white (this year's colors), and crowds so thick you can't move reaching for the proof that they don't just run, they race. Here I've got a leg up on the crowd: my colleague P__ advised me this would occur, and I ordered mine online. I snapped a few shots over the crowd and wondered aloud to P__ (different P -- it's hard to maintain anonymity when everybody I know seems to be named P__) whether we were here to run or to shop. Having enjoyed my public moment of cynicism, I have to confess I'll probably order more paraphernalia online. I doubt it's very often that I can afford to come back here.

An aside: man is this an athletic crowd. I'm the odd man out without a prior year's Boston jacket. And everybody looks fast. In fact, everybody's kids look fast.

Then come the rows of handouts, like Saturday afternoon at Costco but it doesn't taste nearly as good. I ask for an explanation from the 5-hour energy girl how that little vial works so well, and whether it would decrease my life span in the process. She assured me I was safe, which went nowhere toward assuring me of anything. GNC convinced me I'd do better with a few vitamin C chews, which are like Starbursts. I didn't need much convincing, because, well, the chews are like Starbursts. And free. But GNC must have been right, because POM said the same thing about their pomegranate blueberry juice. And just after I had seen that firm's co-owner profiled in the airline magazine -- her second profile that I've personally read in airline magazines in the past few years. I was glad to see the Cascadia Farms granola bars; with the race starting at 10 on Monday I'll need some breakfast.

On to the shoes. How many different ways can one charge close to $100 for a "barefoot running experience"? "It's the natural way to run," he said. "How is that different from my $50 racing flats?" I queried. "More padding," he replied. Huh? We escape with wallets no less intact then when we arrived, but that's because the check-out lines look like the entry door to a hip new club.