A week and a half ago, as I was packing for Chicago, I noticed that all of my good running clothes are a bright vitamin-piss yellow. My new shoes are that color. My lucky tank top is that color. My favorite socks are that color. Bright vitamin piss-yellow is not flattering on my complexion, and it never will be. My skin is the color of a baby pig.
“This is my power color,” I said aloud as I placed a series of neon yellow items into my suitcase. The marathon was in four days, and I had gone irretrievably insane.
By the time they line up by the thousands at a major race’s start line, runners have spent months (maybe years) preparing. They’ve designed a training plan, obsessed over their diet, logged hundreds of miles in all kinds of weather, said no to social events, risen before the sun. There’s one thing that no amount of preparation can stave off: during a long race, runners almost universally would describe themselves as looking “like shit.” And thanks to the ubiquity of race day photography, that moment can be captured for posterity, forever, if you’re willing to pay for it.
The market forces behind race day photography are simple enough to understand: completing a race is an accomplishment, and people like to have professional photographs of themselves or their loved ones in the process of accomplishing something. At running events, where participants number in the thousands (or, at major world marathons and big city races, tens of thousands), it takes a lot of photographers to capture everybody in a light that’s flattering enough that they might buy it.
MarathonFoto offers nostalgic athletes photo packages for all shapes, sizes and fitness levels of wallet. Those seeking a “value” can order one print of a 5×7 photograph of themselves grimacing with effort. For only $7 more, you get an additional print of the same photo, in the same size. Creative types can make their own collage from snapshots photographers captured during the race, starting at only $39.95. Those particularly proud of their raceday achievement can display it on plaques that range in price from $69.95 to $119.95 for a “deluxe” version that includes display of your finisher’s medal. A bargain! And they don’t just show up to marathons; every big race I’ve run in the last few years has had its own gaggle of photographers.
Cost aside, several female runners I spoke to approach their raceday photos with attitudes that range from amusement to concern followed by embarrassment, a source of self-consciousness vanity in the midst of an activity that ideally promotes feeling formidable. Danny Doyne of Chicago says she purchased photos of her first half marathon, because she was running for a cause and a loved one was in the hospital. During that race, she adds, she was wearing short sleeves in 36 degree weather, a detail she now recalls warmly. Conservative columnist and fellow runner Christine Rousselle has never purchased a midrace photo, but she once took a photo of herself as she was falling midrace; truly a feat. Another Chicago runner says she always chooses cute outfits for races but has never purchased a photo.
Despite the fact that looking “good” is about as much the point of running as having a nice manicure is to playing chess, the spectre of the raceday photo is one that’s hard for racers to ignore entirely; not everybody buys, but everybody looks. I’ve always thought it might be nice to own a single photograph of myself running the Chicago marathon, but things never quite worked out. In 2010, I didn’t get my shit together in time to order prints from the race before they expired and disappeared from the internet forever, which is probably fine because it was around 80 degrees at street level by the time I finished, and in all of the photos available for purchase, I look like I’m having an allergic reaction. All of my photos from 2013 captured me in a moment of slack-jawed exertion, like a bored heifer mindlessly plowing in the sun, or taut-faced elation, like a manic meth head gleefully outrunning the cops. MarathonFoto, which captured this year’s participants in the Chicago Marathon, charges anywhere from $17.95 to $324.95 for precious, professionally captured images, and I wasn’t about to spend upwards of $20 on a photo of myself in blurry pain.
I thought this year might be the year, and I did what little I could do to encourage a good midrace photograph. I’d pick a good outfit, I’d take five extra minutes to shellac my hair down, I’d make sure I adequately carb loaded and drank plenty of water in the days leading up to the event. I’d listen to music that made me happy, and smile at the people who came out to cheer on the 40,000+ runners.
The night before the marathon, I woke up after an hour of sleep in a panic that I’d overslept. Then, I drifted back off and had 55 minutes of stress dreams. Then I woke up again. I finally gave up at about 5:30 A.M. and got up for good.
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