"Freezing! It’s freezing!" I muttered to myself as I walk-jogged four blocks, converging with a migration of other runners on Sunday morning, February 6, 2000.
     I arrived at the Superdome at 7:15 am. Throngs of people milled inside the large oval expanse. Clumps of runners huddled together. Some stretched. Others lay on the concrete floor, seemingly contemplating the ceiling.
     I wasn’t that relaxed.
     The ladies’ bathroom line extended out the door. I went in search of other restrooms on upper floors.
     It was quiet on the third level. I turned right at the top of the escalator and discovered an empty, clean restroom.
     Good thing I took the opportunity when it presented itself. The second time around, fifteen minutes later, an "armed" (with a radio) guard was posted at the floor of the escalator turning people away, saying the upper level bathrooms were closed and we 4000 runners had to use the 4 portolets outside near the start.
     "Heck with it," I thought and strolled out to the starting line.
I had hidden my plastic bag containing warm-ups for after the race under a bleacher, so the cold air was more than bracing on my bare legs. The bermuda-length tights and long-sleeved golf shirt were not much protection.
     I huddled up to the start barricade and tried to maintain muscle flexibility by stamping feet, stretching calf and quad and marching in place.
     The welcome and thank-you-to-the-sponsor speeches dragged on. Runners became restless and annoyed. At last the national anthem rang out at a sedate tempo and the gun banged (10 minutes late).
     We were off. And it was a fast field---or was it my imagination?
     No! At mile 1, I had a 7:10—way too fast for my half-marathon pace. But no one seemed to be slowing down. Was it because of the forty-degree temperature?
     Down Poydras Street toward the French Quarter. Turn left at Decatur where the guy is playing jazz trumpet on the corner. Fly past the French Market. Turn left on Esplanade. Glance quickly as white mansions with black wrought iron balconies breeze by. Watch out for the uneven bricks underfoot.
     Veer right at the equestrian statue of Beauregard. Is that greenspace City Park already?
     Try to catch that woman with the red velvet cap. Am I still doing 7:30’s?
     Smaller steps; pump your arms going up that steep overpass. You’ll climb it again coming back on mile 8.
     Thirsty now. Time to guzzle a little water. But don’t slow down too much. Tough to overcome inertia. Push on.
     Mile 10. Slowing down. Keep those legs moving. Do the ultra-runner shuffle. There’s that long straight stretch down Canal Street.
     Mile 12. Don’t lose it. Think of forward (not lateral) movement. Pretend your legs are wheels. Do I have enough energy to wave at the staff at the Day’s Inn where I’m staying? No. I need all my energy to pump my arms.
     Turn right at Joy Theater on Loyola where all the scuzzy people loiter during the day. Almost finished. Just a quick swerve around the north curve of the Superdome.
     Come on! You can do it. Really work those arms. Turn left into the dome. There. You can see the clock just inside the door.
     1:42:10…15…20…25…30…
     Come ON! Be there!
     1:42:44…Not the time I was hoping for, but good enough to earn second place in my age group.
     Outside, other rugged spirits labored on in their marathon; another 13.1 miles to go in the cold sun.
     Red beans and rice, jambalaya, fruit yogurt, Pepsi and beer were plentiful as runners and friends mingled in the relaxed after-race atmosphere.
     The 5k awards were quickly dispatched as the half-marathon frontrunners finished and it was only thirty minutes later when the half-marathon awards were announced.
     Huda Melky, 50 received grand masters’ overall with a time of 1:36. (I was very grateful that she had just graduated from my age group!) The rest of us duly filed onto the platform to receive our black plaques with white ceramic Mardi Gras masks on them. Unique and colorful awards!
     The temperature had risen to fifty-seven by the time I left the dome around 10:30.
     All of us runners wore our mask-decorated marathon T-shirts proudly around town for the rest of the day, happy to answer questions about the race from fellow diners and passersby, willing to take in their praise and admiration.
     A hot turtle soup for lunch at Mother’s Restaurant finally warmed me up.
     New Orleans in February 2001…will it be this cold again? I’ll have to come back to find out.

Copywrite © Sheri Bedford 2000