Several months ago, I learned that Atlanta, the big city just to the south, would host the Olympic Marathon trials. I knew immediately that I wanted to go down and spectate. Of course, if I could run my own marathon the next day, I would have to go down. Thus, my own Olympic marathon weekend began to take shape.

I learned from previous planning errors made while teaching and devoted spare minutes as often as I could to make sure that I planned for as many contingencies I could think of. I selected a reasonably priced, well-reviewed hotel on the outskirts of the city within walking distance of a MARTA station. I identified the best time for us to visit the expo and found a place for us to spectate the trials. I even looked ahead and attempted to clear as much school work off my plate to keep from getting overwhelmed although I did not succeed with that last part as well as I had hoped.

Friday came whether we had prepared or not. Thankfully, we had prepared. While I headed home, getting caught in high school dismissal traffic, Mom and Grandpa picked up the rental car from the airport. Even with a stop at Starbucks to get our drinks for the road, I made it home in time to get a few internet dependent school related to do list items done before Mom arrived with the rental car.

A few minutes later, we had everything loaded up and hit the road. Since we stayed in a hotel to the north of the city, our drive took a mere two and a half hours. I used the first half of the ride to cross-stitch and the second half to chat with Mom.

As we drove into. the outskirts of the city, I realized, and told Mom, that I never really thought of Atlanta as a big city yet all I had to do was look around and see all the signs. For a place so close, relatively speaking, to home, I know relatively little about Atlanta and have never taken time to tour the sites like I have in other large cities like San Francisco or Chicago. Once at the hotel, we checked in, parked in the parking garage, and settled in for the evening.

That next morning, Mom and I both took advantage of our relatively flexible schedule to sleep in. I did, however, force myself to get out of bed around 8 so that I could get us breakfast early enough for us to head downtown to the expo before the expo closed at 11. While Mom showered, I wandered around looking at the fantastic breakfast offerings. Although I should have realized earlier, the extensive options available reminded me of the hotel we have stayed at for the Youth in Government conference in Columbia, likely because they are part of the same hotel chain.

Thinking ahead while down at the breakfast, I realized that I could load up on food to save in the fridge in our room so that we did not have to purchase supper. I loaded up on eggs and cheese, turkey sausage, french toast sticks, pastries, oatmeal, waffles, fruit, and some pressed juice. I placed it all in front of my seat at the table, giving the impression to anyone else that I planned to eat way more than a reasonable portion; I did plan to eat it all, just not at that one particular moment. Rather, I ate my oatmeal, a little on the watery side, while I waited for Mom to come down and help me carry stuff back up to the room.

As I waited for Mom, slowly eating my oatmeal, a family filled up the rest of the tall table to my left. The kids comments made me smile several times. When one of the ladies sat down across from me, she extended a cheerful greeting. I must admit that this gave me a pleasant surprise. Usually I talk to no one else in these situations and no one talks to me. I ended up having a quite pleasant, albeit sporadic conversation with her as we ate. Mom joined in for a few minutes once she came down to the breakfast room.

It took us a few minutes to figure out how to carry the food back upstairs to the room, the process made a bit more difficult by a room key activated elevator. As we put the food in the fridge, I realized that we needed to leave as soon as possible so we could have enough time to get to the expo to grab our bib and look around a little bit before it closed. (They closed at 11 to focus on the Trials, or so I assume.)

We grabbed just what we needed, wallets, a couple cliff bars, phones, and a portable charger. I planned to take plenty of pictures. It did not take long to reach the MARTA stop. Purchasing the tickets, however, proved a slight challenge. Instead of providing two roundtrip tickets like I purchased, the machine spat out only one and then directed me to speak to the nonexistent customer service to retrieve the other. What? I spun around in vain before trying again receiving the same results, a charge on my credit card and an unhelpful message. Only after I stepped away and then tried a new machine did I successful retrieve the second ticket.

Once down on the platform, I consulted the map to determine which side we needed. I saw a large circle, assumed that the larger size indicated the current position and declared that we needed the northbound train to reach our stop. (Yes, I did hide some foreshadowing there.) As I stepped away from the map to take a photo, Mom stopped me. Another woman wanted to take a picture of my “Will Run for Cookies” jacket. We talked for a little while and learned that she had a daughter running in the trials later that afternoon.

When we parted ways to get on separate trains, I should have realized my error then. Instead I stepped confidently, with Mom, onto the northbound train doubting my decision only after I noticed more trees than buildings. In a flash it all came to me. I had not verified the identity of the stop I based my train choice on. We stayed on the north side of Atlanta so we needed to head south to get downtown. The expo would not be located in the opposite direction of the Trials course. I sent us the wrong way and the next stop did not come quickly.

We exited the train as soon as it stopped. As we walked toward the opposite platform, I pulled up the directions and realized that my smooth maneuver put us out of reach of the expo before closing time if we used MARTA to get there. We could have skipped the expo and just picked up our bibs after spectating the Trials. I really wanted to visit the expo though to have a chance at purchasing some new gear. Thanks to piecemeal kit purchases and using race merchandise, I have a less than coordinated running wardrobe. To get there before closing, we had no choice but to use Lyft and even then we would have little time to spare.

I pulled up the app on Mom’s phone, ordered the ride, and then attempted to find the pick up spot indicated on the app’s map. What happened next has never happened to me before helped me understand, in a quite small way, what it might feel like to get profiled. As we walked through the empty area, strangely without another soul in sight, a police car turned onto the road beside us and rolled up right in front of us. As he rolled down his window, I started to worry that we had accidentally walked somewhere prohibited. The discomfort grew as he appeared to not believe us or to not understand what we meant when I told him that we were waiting on our Lyft, trying to find the spot our dot marked. I even showed him the screen on my phone. After a few tense seconds, he slowly pulled away and we hurried over to the shelter the officer had just verbally assumed that we headed for. We spent a few tense minutes waiting for our Lyft to arrive with the MARTA police officer parked right beside the shelter where we stood.

We breathed a huge sigh of relief when our ride pulled up and we slid into the backseats. Although the officer likely did not have the intention of unnerving us while he did his job, he certainly succeeded. Our ride lasted just under half an hour driving through predominantly African American areas of the city. I would love to study the sociology of Atlanta. Strikingly, I knew we had arrived at our destination when I saw hordes of white people heading towards the entrance of a large building. (I had no idea at that point just how large the building was until we nearly got lost within its depths.) Running in the United States, marathons especially, remains a predominantly Caucasian sport.

When we joined the horde, I knew I would have to pay attention to signage. These white people around me did not look like runners heading to a race expo. Sure enough, we got up to the building entrance and I saw signage for some sort of car festival. We headed in the opposite direction looking for some sign, either a physical sign or someone who looked like a runner and carried expo swag. I will not describe every turn and every escalator both up and down. I couldn’t if I tried. This building defied understanding. I have never tried to find my way in any other building as large or as confusing. We spent fifteen minutes winding our way through becoming extremely anxious as we started to see runners but no sign of the expo. The height of anxiety came when we could go either left or right but had no directional cues. We chose the wrong one with only eight minutes of the expo left. I ended up sprinting my way to the expo, Mom following a short distance behind. I had planned on getting in a short run back at the hotel that evening. I had no more need.

This confusion in finding the expo served as just the first sign of areas in which the Atlanta Track Club could improve. Even though the website stated Building A (I found that out afterwards), that knowledge would have helped only at the one point we made the wrong turn. That was the only place where we saw building labels. A couple signs along the way, like at the entrance we used and at the aforementioned junction would have gone a long way.

Once. in the expo with my bib and shirt secured, I breathed a sign of relief. Not much remained since by the time we entered the expo proper, it had officially ended. The official USATF store still had a few items left for sale. That’s what I wanted, something related to either the trials or USA gear. (I grudgingly put up with the Nike logos.) I ended up with the gear I wore the next day, not usually advisable but it worked out this time.

We walked quickly through the rest of the large space, picking up samples from the two booths still handing them out, Cliff bars new caffeine/coffee flavored bars and hand sanitizer from Publix. Both of these vendors sponsor the race, but by that point had started to break down their booths as well. We snatched up the leftovers before heading to the exit and our next destination, the spot from which we would watch the amazing Trials participants would run past.

To be continued…