There I was, at mile 6, ready to either throw up, cry, pass out, or all three... but the woman next to me (a saint in a red Chicago Marathon shirt) urged me to keep going. "Just think of the popsicles" she said, breathless as I was. "God, I hope they have red!" I replied.
.1 mile left, I spotted SOB waiting for me. He started filming, I started screaming at him to stop. And in about two seconds, I was across that finish line and searching for that illusive red popsicle. No luck, they only had orange and purple. Sucks being a slow runner. No good popsicles left for those slower than a 9 minute mile pace.
It could have been worse... much worse.
Run Hades had basically sucked the life out of me from start to finish. The ground was a sweltering 84 degrees when the 5000 ladies took off from the marina. My first mile was spent thanking all that is holy for giving me the insight to bring my amphipod water bottle along for the ride. It was then accompanied by curses directed at my shin splints. I wouldn't blame them. My first mile was fast, even for me, causing my calves to basically buckle under me with each step.
"Slow the fuck down," I probably said out loud (and to the chagrin of the other runners who already thought I was crazy). 5 miles left and I didn't plan on burning out at mile 2. I was certainly not going to go down because my calves were a little pissed.
I was also not going to fail while trying to pass the herds of ladies walking the 5K, hand in hand. I get it, this is a celebration. You beat cancer, raised some money, got your lady loves involved, etc.... but do you really need to take up a path with all your love? Cant you just walk two-by-two, or a line? It could be a big freakin' parade. Some of us are not in it to hold hands. We are there to get sweaty, make a PR, and allow ourselves to eat a second serving of popcorn. Next race that has this issue, I swear I'm going to play a game of Red Rover.
More photoshop skills learned!
At mile 3, I got to witness the craziness of an enraged golfer. To that man, who cussed out a bunch of fine looking women in short shorts and sports bras running past the drive way to the Lincoln Park golf course... well, you deserve no pity. What you said was horrifying, and I chuckled loudly as the cop came and forced you back in to your car before one of the three women chasing you down could kick your sorry, old, white ass. Next time, check the website or the trail. Signs were posted and races happen almost every weekend.
Mile 4, well nothing happened then. Just hot air.
At mile 5, we headed back to the marina. We circled around the soccer fields and past the lake front church. I finally passed a group of girls who were casually chatting the entire time. No one should be able to chit-chat about their kid's artwork and run a 10K in 90 degree weather. It's just not fair.
And then mile 6 happened. My angel in a red marathon shirt guided me to that popsicle heaven. I crashed on the lawn, sucking down that orange juicy stick (mmm... dirty). After a good amount of not moving, SOB and I got back on the trail for the 1 mile walk home... in 90 degree temps. I spent the rest of the day happily eating mac and cheese and popcorn. Nothing like post race, non-guilt.
Other highlights of the weekend?:
- Harry Plopper
- Hair cutz. Wish I took a before picture, but my hair was past my shoulder blades and enough to be deemed a mechanical safety issue. So it got the chop. It was a last minute call, one that I put in the hands of a brilliant and awesome stylist. He did great. My hair feels fresh as a daisy and I can actually see my neck now.
- My eating... Cartman style... I'll get back to you on the nutrition department. I've been bad.
- Oh, and hai, SOB's Brother, SOB'sLBM had his graduation party. That was fun, but SOB'sLBM's pictures were not flattering. I cannot wait till there comes a day when I do not look at pictures and shudder. A girl can dream.