The Final Voyage (Part 2 of 4)
The first small bridge takes us from downtown to Davis Islands. This is approximately .7 miles from the start as my first walk break happens to commence on the narrow bridge. It’s okay because the couple in front of me decide to walk up the incline as well, and I line up directly behind them. Sometimes, I can’t pull off to the side to walk and I begin walking in the middle of the road. Miraculously, people dart around the slow obstruction, me.
On a completely unrelated note, I learn that the crash on the interstate caused a back-up for about a mile.
The 5:00 finish pace group manages to get in front of me. Runners group around the lady holding the sign overhead. I get ahead of them, take a walk break and they in turn get ahead of me. It proves challenging passing them as the group begins expanding to cover the width of the street. I eventually get and stay ahead of them.
The sun makes an appearance and things begin to warm up. I take off my long sleeved shirt and tie it around my waist, leaving me in my tank-top, and I continue to run around the upscale neighborhood of the islands. As I exit the islands, the finisher for the half-marathon charges towards the finish line to my left.
A lady with a megaphone gives directions of a pivotal turn to take. This is followed with multiple signs in the middle of the road. Half marathoners go to the left. Full marathoners go to the right.
Right.
The course takes us through downtown Tampa. Tall buildings provide a shady and windy corridor, making things cold. A man dressed in a Superman outfit, complete with a red cape, runs by in the opposite direction.
“He’s flying!” someone exclaims.
I see a good number of people running in the opposite direction. I have no gauge of how fast they are running or how much longer I have to run until a reach the northern end of the course. After crossing enough bridges and seeing enough of the Hillsborough River, I reach a turn-around point and begin heading back into downtown.
“No, this is your race, go ahead,” I hear someone say.
Another replies, “We’ll do this together.”
As I re-enter downtown, I see some pedestrians waiting for a gap in the runners to cross the road. Children ask their parents what we are doing. Sometimes I overhear the word marathon other times I hear the word 26 miles.
The course brushes against a section of town named Hyde Park. Asphalt turns to brick. Ahead, I see another group of people one of which is carrying a white sign at the top of a wooden stick which reads 4:45.
The Final Voyage (Part 1 of 4)
On my third floor apartment, I reclined in my lazy-boy watching these crazy people run on television. A helicopter showed an overhead shot of them running down the road early in the morning when it’s forty or fifth degrees outside. That was before I got into this running craze any normal person’s response to doing something like that is “Why?”
Now, I’m one of those crazy people taking part in the final running of the full marathon (just more towards the middle of the pack), dubbed the “Final Voyage.” I’ve done their 15K and half-marathon, but never the full.
Getting There
Planning to arrive early has its advantages. I realize that forgot by water belt a mile and a half from home. After retrieving it from the kitchen counter and as I approach the Bearss exit (in Tampa people cannot spell street names) on Interstate 275, I see the following message cyan message illuminated on their overhead sign: “Crash. Must exit at Floribraska Ave.” Three patrol cars block the Interstate a mile or two from the downtown exit, and I exit the interstate onto another misspelled street.
“I need your navigation assistance,” I say.
My dads sleepily asks, “Huh?”
I explain, “There was a crash on the interstate and their forcing people off.” My cell phone beeps with a low battery warning; it does that nowadays after one minute of use.
He asks, “Where are you at?”
Stopped at the intersection, I say, “I’m turning onto Nebraska Ave now.”
“That will take you into downtown.”
That’s confirmed by the tall buildings towering to the right of me.
Again, I make a short pilgrimage from the Fort Brooke parking garage to the convention center.
The Start
Over five thousand people squeeze into a road sandwiched between a high-rise condo and a grocery store. I hear a woman’s voice sign the star spangled banner as a full moon sets in the distance. A man speaks for several minutes, all of which is inaudible, positioned between the 5:00 and 4:45 finish time pace groups. This is followed by a loud clamor of a clanging cowbell and everyone begins walking forward.
“We are now two minutes into the race,” the announcer says, counting up second by second. “2 o’ 5. 2 o’ 6. 2 o’ 7.”
I cross the starting line, beginning my sixth marathon.
Week 7 of 7
Leaving the Fort Brooke parking garage I notice the trail of people leaving the convention center. Whether they are wearing sweatpants, business casual attribute or dress suits most are holding one thing in common: a green and black tote bag containing their stuff for race day.
There’s s an odd excitement as if it were a few days before Christmas as I cross another intersection, approaching closer. Up an escalator and a flight of stairs, I make my way towards the back of the large room. The lines to the left are long, but the 18000-19000 range is only three people deep. She’s waiting for her friend, and I speak to the man behind the table.
“Eighteen, seventy-nine, eight.” I show him the number that I wrote on a folded sheet of white paper.
After thumbing through some papers, he retrieves my packet.
“Do you know how to put this on?” He points at the orange D-Tag adhered to the back of my race bib.
“Yeah.” See: U Can Finish 5 Miler, Disney half and full marathons.
Pointing to my right he directs me to the race shirt area.
Scanning from left to right I first set eyes on a sign labeled “5K – 15K.” On the far right is “S – XL. Full Marathon.”
“Large,” I say.
He grabs a green and black tote bag from under the table and says, “Large!”
“Here you go Coach,” a teenager hands him a blue shirt, and he drops it into the bag.
I become one of the runners leaving the convention center to take part in the Final Voyage, the city’s last* downtown marathon this Sunday.
* If they re-open it 10 years from now, then it won’t be their last. Who knows?
Week 5 of 7
Since it’s cold this morning, I defer my long run until lunch time and head out the door. The route is an out ‘n back to the car dealership. Although I shouldn’t go out that far, when I make a loop around two fast-food restaurants that lay just beyond the dealership my only option is use my two feet get home.
Weather-wise, it’s a beautiful day outside. I do the mileage that I wanted to do and feel good about it. Tomorrow is suppose to bring the same kind of cool Floridian weather where the highs peak at the mid-fifties.
Assuming that I don’t twist or pull something in the next two weeks, finishing Gasparilla [the marathon] is certainly doable.
It’s all downhill from here. 
Round 2
On Dailymile I notice someone mentioning something about it.
Reading about someone getting in reminds me to see when the deadline is. Since I’m not fast I have to attempt use the lottery as a means for entry. This year’s lottery deadline shifts earlier to March 15th. Last year’s deadline was in mid-summer.
I apply for a second consecutive time.