Many of you knew I was heading to Phoenix last weekend for the Arizona Rock and Roll 1/2 Marathon. You probably thought I was pretty smart, going to the sun and sand when it was -10 here in Chicago. And you'd be right! Our accomodations were fabulous, the weather was great, and my friends were pretty damn funny. Did I mention the hotel? The Arizona Biltmore (see that freakishly sunny picture to the left) was exactly what I needed after a few months of cold and snow.
Now the race, that, I could have skipped.
Suffice it to say, when surrounded by 13.1 miles of strip malls, waddling walkers, and that inside voice saying "hey, there's Dairy Queen!" it's not going to be the best day. I should have taken a guess it would be bad - after all, I got a speeding ticket on the way to the race (so we were going 75 in a 55...it could happen to anyone...right?); then ran over an already dead racoon; and finally took us to the start, when we should have been at the finish (long story involving shuttles and scared Korean women). All of this, by 6:30 a.m. I should have ordered a beer and gone back to the hotel.
In any case, the day was long, the feet were t-t-t-tired, and my mood was not so sunny when I finally crossed the finish line. And yet, it only got better! Because (hold your breath here)....they RAN OUT OF MEDALS!!!
I took the high road on Sunday. I said "great". I took the pre-printed slip of yellow paper which basically said "sorry, but the marathoners who didn't train switched races and took your medals". And I headed to the large parking lot in the sun to find my friends.
Of course, because I was looking like Rosie O'Donnel after a 1/2 block walk, I got to go meet some of Tempe's finest, when my friend Val got the vapors at the finish (sounds so much better than "almost passed out and threw up on all of us".) We grabbed a few of the cute men in blue, manning the John Deere, and asked if they would take her to the medic station. She doth protest "I've never done this before, not in 5 years of running" (and she hasn't), when one of the hotties turned and said to her "don't worry, you won't be embarrassed about this until tomorrow". I would have asked for a number, but really, I kind of stunk. Plus, Val was kind of pasty.
In any case, the rest of the weekend was hysterical and fun. Val recovered nicely. We found our friend Kelly can, indeed, get ready for a night out in less than 2 hours (but don't tell her boyfriend that); and that Lisa is the only one of us who follows those silly "recovery" plans. And we had a REAL good time on the Southwest flight home, surrounded by one real preacher (Father Tom from Old St. Pat's, who ran his marathon in 33 minutes longer than it took me to run my 1/2 marathon)...and a fake preacher (the lovely James who sat beside Val and made her talk the entire flight home, thus proving that airplanes can indeed be your worst nightmare); and a turncoat (that would be me, who helped 10 year old Matthew write his essay "Why the White Sox are better than the Cubs".
All in all, a great weekend. (Well, except for Kelly, who got stuck next to Matthew's dad, Stinky Gary, for the entire flight home, and almost bludgeoned us all upon exiting the plane.)
And if I've learned anything valuable, it's that it's really, probably time for me to hang up my long-distance running shoes. My back was screaming at me for a day after the race, and it just wasn't as fun as it used to be. So I'm hanging up my shoes - at least, for anything over 6 miles. Really, I am. When I called my mom to tell her I had learned from my mistakes, she said "well, you said you were quitting in May of last year". I told her I had learned. But, that if I forgot again, to just use a nearby 2X4 to hit me upside the head.
She then told me Ruby once claimed she could learn from her mistakes too. Apparently, Ruby was flummoxed by a can of paint, which she just could not get open. After examining her options, she flipped the can over, and opened it from the bottom with a can opener. One can only imagine the joy that little scene brought to the house....
Despite doing the best she could imagine under the circumstances, she realized that perhaps it wasn't the best way to attack that particular problem. And she vowed she'd never make that mistake again.
Perhaps running 13 miles on a regular basis isn't the best way to tackle the problem of getting in regular workouts. Which is why I'm heading back to Triathlons full time. Because really, how much trouble can you get in when you swim, bike, AND run?
Mom, why are you holding a 2X4?
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