Several of you told me that I was “going to die” if I drank 13 beers while running the San Francisco Half Marathon. I did not die.
I puked three times, blacked out for miles 11 and 12, and needed five hours to finish. This is my story.
This blog declared its intentions to drink 13 beers over the 13.1-mile SF Half Marathon. Realize that it is not possible to run a half marathon while carrying a 12-pack of beer. Sure, you could try… but the beer would get shaken up and explode upon opening each can. And then no one gets to drink any.
Perhaps even more problematic are the goddamned do-gooders and paramedics onhand in case of medical emergencies. They will take your swerving, stumbling, and vomiting as signs of delirium or fatigue, and then get all interventionny and try to take away your beer. That can not happen.
So I bought three beers at a time, and poured each 12-ounce bottle or can into a 36-ounce water jug. Holding the jug while I run, I can keep that fucker pretty steady — far more so than water bottles strapped on to my belt.
I studied the course map in detail to plot each beer stop, which is critical because miles 5-10 are on the Golden Gate Bridge and its on-ramps. Christ fucking knows there’s no liquor stores on that bridge.
And to avoid the do-gooders, I made like Mayor Newsom and blew off registering. Then I started the race at 1pm, instead of the proper 6am start time. That way I wasn’t trouble on the race course, I was just some random afternoon jogger with an open container. I’m not aware they even prosecute for that in this town.
I arrive at the start line at 1pm, and figure I need to pound that first whole beer during some warmup yoga stretches. I can only carry the equivalent of three beers at once, and face a 5-mile liquor store gap later. Logistically speaking, I need to drink more than five beers over the first five miles, because during miles 5-10 I will only be able to carry the equivalent of three beers.
So after the first can of beer (Tecate, 4.55% Alcohol content) I’m just refilling the jug again and again, noting that 12 fluid ounces counts as one beer. I will need to drink 156 fluid ounces over this race to hit my goal.
I am quickly gifted some other runner’s used bib. The name printed on it is “Sarah”. This will fool law enforcement if there’s any trouble.
I begin the half marathon at 1:10pm. Already I have to pee at 1:12pm.
The first four miles are fantastic and my pace is quite good. Beer is great for running, the exercise combined with alcohol gives you a crazy fun euphoria. You tend to really blast the iPod the drunker you get, or at least I do. You’re sweating a lot of the alcohol out, so you’re not getting too weighed down by it. Yet.
Beers 2-4 are Hoegaardens (5% alcohol), and we’re flyin’. At the Fisherman’s Wharf 7-11, I deduce that a standard 40-ounce beer will fill my jug (plus provide me a big bonus sip!). So that Miller High Life Genuine Draft (4.2% alcohol) will get me through Fort Mason and the Marina.
And is that Pope Ratzinger up there on the Wax Museum billboard? Next to Eminem? Really? If I’m Carlos Santana, my attorney is serving their ass a cease and desist for putting me next to those two.
There is no fatigue or suckiness yet, and being a guy I can pee just about anywhere at Crissy Field. I’m way ahead on my beer pace and running great. I refill the jug with Modelo Especial (6% alcohol) at a liquor store near Palace of Fine Arts, but I waste a half hour trying to find said liquor store. Not many of them there. “Fine Arts” indeed.
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