Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Biscuit's delayed live-tweet of the half marathon she survived

Hey friends! I'm alive! I know you were worried, what with my half marathon on Sunday. Overall, it was a great day. I trained the least for this race of any I've completed before, and yet it was somehow still the easiest to complete. I guess I have to suck it up and admit that those bitchy hills in San Francisco did me a solid and prepared me quite well for those 13 miles.

I really wanted to "live tweet" the whole event, since I usually have a lot of crazy thoughts on my long runs. However, I am stuck in the year 1992 with my Blackberry Curve, so this proved impossible. I was, however live-tweeting the whole thing in my head, and like the dedicated little blogger I am, I jotted notes down when I finished. So here is your 2-day post-race day "live" blog. Side note: I have a hard time with 140 characters, so I'm ignoring that rule.

What we have here in this image is a graphic of my split times grabbed from my nike+ app. I spruced her up with some PowerPoint wizardry to highlight key thoughts from the race. The numbers correspond to comments below.

1. Mile 0.65: I am passed by a 4'9" woman of approximate age 75. Apparently I should not call my running style the "old lady shuffle." It's slower than that.

2. Mile 1.5: running through downtown Monterey and a young gent has set his keyboard up and is playing the Rocky theme on loud speakers. I want this man to play the soundtrack to my entire life, it's that good. I'm a fucking gazelle.

3. Mile 2: Big time poomergency. This has never happened to me during a race before. I have to stop at the first bank of port-a-potties. I feel so much better after this. TMI? Sorry, it's a fact of life. Everyone poops.

4. Mile 3: Service men and women are stationed at every corner on the route. They seem to have screened them to be the best looking service people I've ever seen. Perhaps it's the uniform, or the happy hormones the exercise is releasing. Everyone is still cheerful and energetic and everyone says "thank you" to every service person they pass. This is a super nice gesture, but does it get awkward as a service person to have people thanking you all the time? I decide that instead of "thank you for your service," I'll just say , "thanks for being you." I get some weird looks. Leave it to me to remove the awkwardness.

5. Mile 4: I look to my left and right because I am suddenly surrounded on both sides by people running in line with me. To my surprise, it's 3 middle aged men dressed as Lt. Dangle from Reno 911. They ask me if I've been drinking. I ask them if they've been chaffing. They say it's already gotten pretty intense. I wish I had seen them after the race to follow up on the state of their bare inner thighs.
6. Mile 1-8: I've found all the "woo girls." I don't know how I've never noticed it before, but running is the recreational sport of woo girls. There is so much wooing that I wish I had worn headphones. There are woos for the service men, the keyboard players, the elite runners lapping us on the way back through the 10 mile marker. They are everywhere.

Side note: I can sort of understand the wooing for the elite runners. These people are f'ing inspirational. They are sprinting 13 miles faster than I can run to the corner, and they make it look easy. I slow clapped as they lapped me.

7. Mile 5: The sun is shining and I can see my braid in my shadow. I'm m-f'ing Katniss Everdeen running through the arena to save my true love Peeta Melark. No seriously, this is what's going through my head and it's making me run faster.

8. Mile 6: Two things happen here. First, my boss laps me on her way to the finish line (I told my boss about this race and she signed up). If ever there were an appropriate metaphor for sport and career, this is it. Ambitious career boss lady is trotting along at 7 minutes per mile, and work-life balance master Biscuit is fat-kid shuffling along 45 minutes behind her. 

The other thing that happens is I see the greatest cheerleader of all time. A man, apparently on his own as I see no entourage with him, is stationed on the side of the path, shirtless, in rollerskates, short shorts, sunglasses, and natural afro with a sign over his head that says on one side, "you're the sh*t," and on the other, "you sexy baby." He's dancing to his boom box. This is the greatest thing I have ever seen and I consider stopping to ask him if he wants to be friends. The best part is, I get to pass him twice since he's stationed before the turn around.

9. Mile 11: I'm tired and I'm not having as many funny thoughts. That is, until I encounter another great cheerleader. I will call him the literal cheerleader, because he was deadpan delivering encouragement, a la Ben Stein, such as: "you are doing a very good job. 11 miles, that is very impressive. You have run very far, good for you." I also love him and want to be his friend.

10. Mile 13: I finish strong (as you can see, the calibration on ipod is a little off), if slowly. That little up-tick at the end is the part where I sprinted past two ladies in the last 200 feet. I figured, why not beat 2 more people? They probably started in the corral after me, and this sprinting is pointless. I have tortoised the shit out this race. I get my snacks from the food tent and chug two free Michelob Ultras from the beer tent. This is the best race ever.

Stars: I think the secret to my not dying/not puking after this race was my frequent and consistent snack times along the course. I carried two Gu packets with me (espresso love of course) and picked up two at the aid station at mile 8. So yes,  I inhaled about 400 calories along the way, probably completely negating any positive impact of running 13 miles. Well, it was the gu + the post race cheese fries that sealed that deal.

Post Race: Return to the hotel room and discover that I have developed the greatest sweat pattern of my life. Nothing on my front, but turn around and BOOM! Legendary armpit and back sweat. Running is such a sexy sport.  Then I go and eat some cheese fries.
Yes, I made my BF take a picture of my back/pit sweat.

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