This summer, in June, I ran Grandma’s Marathon with a group of my friends. It was a great experience overall and I had a wonderful weekend spending time with friends and family. While I took away countless memories of love and laughter that I cherish, I have one nagging memory that has stuck with me since the race. It goes something like this:

Before the race there are thousands of people all eagerly lining up in their respective corrals. The tension in the air is high as everyone mentally prepares to stampede from Two Harbors to Duluth. One of the most congested areas with sought after positions is a good spot in line for a port-a-potty. My friends and I immediately found our spot in line, with ample time before the race started, and relaxed knowing we would be able to properly relieve ourselves before the race.

Now there are port-a-pottys everywhere with lines stretching 50+ people at a time. In a parallel line a blaze of sun-kissed light caught my eye. I looked over and saw a man in a white tank top and bright red shorts. He also sported a dyed red mustache and dyed red hair. On top of that he had red tinted, fast looking running sunglasses. He was frankly crushing the look and it looked like he was ready to have a great day. I figured that would be the last I see of him as our respective lines quickly pulled us apart.

Fast forward 21 miles and a couple hours. I am hurting badly. My legs are starting to cramp up and I know the pacer I left behind at 13 miles is making ground on me. I am just focused on getting to the finish line smoothly and finishing with some dignity. During this part of the course, we are running past some of the fraternity houses for one of the universities in Duluth. Over to the right side of the road, I hear a roar for the crowd. I use some precious mental and physical energy to acknowledge what the loud cheering was as I turn my head. There he is! The fire-red soaked man. He was veering off course towards a rambunctious group of college-aged spectators. They had assembled a keg and were actively trying to get runners to come slam a quick beer before finishing the race.

Me, in all my seriousness, would never entertain the thought of stopping for a beer. Not only did I watch as red-man drank a beer, but he got two of the guys next to the kegs to throw and hold his legs up in the air so he could do a keg stand. I looked on in awe. I don’t think I would have been able to get back moving again after a stunt like that. But the reception he got from the crowd was hilarious and amazing. They immediately started cheering the red-man on when he walked over looking for a drink. But when he did the keg stand? The crowd went nuts. They were jumping out of their chairs and chanting for him. It was one of the loudest cheering sections I heard all race.

The moral of the story is that red man was just out there for a good time. He looked insane but also awesome. He didn’t care about what his time was (he was still very fast). He was going to do whatever he wanted to for the best overall experience. After the race, part of me regretted that I had not stopped alongside him and hopped in on the keg stand. It seemed that this guy was all about living life for the thrill of it. I would imagine that made a much better story than just saying I ran a specific time. Next race I do, maybe I won’t be so focused on a time but instead think about the overall experience more and how I can have the most fun with all the amazing people out there.