The Surreal Life: Indianapolis Mini-Marathon Edition

For the last six years, I have run or walked in the Indianapolis mini-marathon, the country's largest half-marathon (that's 13.1 miles) with 35,000 participants. It's quite the spectacle: a neverending river of runners, the fanfare, the music, the 2-1/2 mile lap around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. It's very well covered by the local mainstream media.

What no one ever mentions, though, is that the experience is kind of...strange. In order to get the runners to the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and back, the race puts you in some pretty untouristy neighborhoods. On top of that, the race organizers liberally sprinkle the course with entertainment--bands, cloggers, cheerleaders--you name it. There's nothing more surreal that listening to a punk band at 8:00 in the morning whilst running past a giant oil tank.

But why try to explain? I'll let the pictures do the talking.

Everyone gets nervous and has to pee at least once before the race starts. I think everyone was in this line. In front of me.

I kept trying to get a picture that showed how many people are in this thing. It's hard to capture the scale, but this one kind of does it. The starting line is not a good place for the claustrophobic.

There's one in every crowd.

They always have a bagpiper near the start of the race. I don't know why. I also don't know why he's wearing a Hawaiian shirt. It's very cross-cultural.

She doesn't quite seem to capture the spirit of the race.

Would you rather be in Iraq or doing race security?

Music and quality automotive.

They try to throw in a little culture.

Did these people bike to this location just to watch the race, or do they live there? If they live there, then why are their bikes parked next to the road? For display purposes? Anyway, it's a cool picture.

A lot of the spectators have cow bells. I have no idea where they get them.

We drank a lot of water....

...that was handed out by many snappily dressed Mormon fellows.

Do power lines really give you cancer? Probably not from just running under them. Right?

As we round into Speedway (I think this is at about mile 5 or so) we start to encounter some unique scenery.

More pretty scenery.

It would be funny if this band's name was "Transformer." But I don't think it was.

Here's another band-meets-industry scene. I just found out that this is my friend Dustin's brother's band: Please Make It Stop.

Here are some of the cloggers. They're at the race every year. A woman I work with told me that she did this a few years ago, and you have to keep going until the last racer goes by. So these ladies clog for something like five hours straight. She said it was worse than running the race.

Some musicians did a better job at self-promotion...

...than others.

Keeping the runners safely separated from the spectators.

GM takes advantage of their location to market to 35,000 prospective new car owners.

And now...Band Image: A Study

Not Rock 'n' Roll enough.

Too '70s.

Too '80s.

Too "Hansen."

Too "The Darkness."

Too jazzy. Say it with me. Jazzy.

Defies assessment.

Too ironically named.

Okay, enough with the bands.

We're coming up on the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

And in we go.

Here we are on the track. The going's a little slower than the Indy cars. Who knew 2-1/2 miles could feel sooo looong.

Although they do try to provide plenty of diversions:

At 8 miles, everything seems hilarious.

See what I mean?

Okay, we're finally out of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and rounding in on mile 9.

There's nothing like men in uniform.

There's nothing like men handing out beer.

The crowd support was great.

Although it looks like they were expecting riots....

...or layoffs.

See those runners waaaay at the other end of the railroad track? They are ahead of us. We hate them.

This boombox seems sad, somehow. Protected, yet so very lonely.

Soda Over Pike just seems...over.

One must appreciate the complete attention to symmetry.

You think your job sucks.

Now we're nearing the home stretch.

Although we still have to run to somewhere over there.

Finally, some nice scenery.

...as long as you don't look to your right. This would definitely not be mistaken for the New York City Marathon.

The last damn mile.

Duh.

And the finish line. Thank God.

What kept us going.

Me and my friend Andrea. I cheated because this is us before the race, but there's no way I'm showing you what we looked like afterwards.

This one's for you, Ande.