RestApril 30th, 2012
Please, someone remind me not to run a two races in consecutive weekends? Okay? I’m a beginner, for the love of god.
The Trolley Run seemed like it was going to be a disaster. It was raining when we got up at 6:00 and Paco was like, “What’s your plan?” and I said, “My plan is that it’s going to stop raining.”
He looked at me kinda funny. But I mean, seriously. It usually doesn’t rain consistently for hours, right?
When we left the house 45 minutes later it was still raining.
We drove a little ways and I said, “You know…I think I may need a hat. And a different shirt.”
So we turned around and went back. I wasn’t too worried about being late because this race has a zillion people (although only half of the registered runners showed up…a paltry 5500) and four waves of runners were slated to go before my wave (the Might Make It/Might Expire Wave).
I got my hat and changed into long sleeves and weirdly I happened to have four disposable rain ponchos in my trunk.
The Trolley Run is a one-way race that follows the old trolley rails leading from the Waldo area to the Country Club Plaza. The rails are still visible in a lot of places. The idea is you’re supposed to park on the Plaza and take a “trolley” (read: ugly bus) to the race start. But fuck that. I had Paco and Holly drop me off near the race start and then sent them down to the Plaza to wait. I say “drop me off” but really what happened was Paco pulled into the parking lot of Walgreen’s and I sat there saying, “Fuck. Do I really…it’s pouring. Fuck.” Finally I decided I was running the damn race no matter what because I PAID $30 FOR IT. So I got out and proceeded to stand around for 45 minutes in the rain. I hid under some overhangs for a while and took two very disturbing visits to the porta-potties. I do not know what is wrong with people, especially before runs. For god’s sake.
At one point I did just like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day and stepped directly into a pothole filled with water, soaking my entire right foot. Greeeeeat.
At any rate, it slowed to a drizzle right before my wave start so I took off the poncho and crammed it into a trash can and got in the back of the line. I was determined not to start too fast and made sure I had my music started and my Runkeeper kicked off way before we started. Thus, my Runkeeper reported my pace at five minutes as 439 minutes per mile, which confuses me since I was standing still. Did I experience a physics breakthrough? Time travel?
I kept having to remind myself as I got updates that I was ten minutes behind what Runkeeper was telling me but at some point I forgot and was all, how can I have been running that long? Then the finish line further confused me because it said 1:05 which was actually the time since the race started, like the very first person, but I was still all disappointed, like, This took me an HOUR? What am I, 80? Oh and also? The “red wave” runners, who are elite runners and have to submit proof they can run an 8 minute-mile or faster, like to get to the end and then turn around and run back to the start and they are fuckers. I’m slogging along, not even halfway, and these jackasses who look like beef jerky are happily loping back UP to the start. BAD KARMA, elite runners.
The race was a mile farther than I’ve ever run. I figured I could run three miles so surely I could run four. And I was right, only that last mile was a bit difficult. I don’t have any cardio problems running, but my old lady muscles and joints tend to tire out. My right foot and ankle were killing me on Saturday night, for no apparent reason. I iced and used Aleve and was very discouraged, but on Sunday I was fine. I think we ladies of a certain age just have achy bones now and then. I did walk a lot on Saturday in crappy shoes. Maybe that was it. I am sort of in a quandary about shoes right now. You would think that flats would be the best for your feet and heels a no-no, but the most comfortable shoes I own are Naturalizer-type shoes with a two-inch heel. I’m getting so I wear them every day, because my boots hurt my feet, my flats hurt my feet, my clogs hurt my feet, even my old running shoes hurt my feet. Maybe I need old lady insoles. I don’t know.
Anyway, thanks again for all the encouragement and congratulations on the race. I am going to take some time off doing races and work on my 5K time. I am running in the middle of the pack and my competitive nature makes me want to at least finish in the top third or something. I want more people below me than above me.
Please note that there is a six-year-old girl mere seconds behind me. I obscured her face and bib number since it’s douchey to put kids on the internet without a parent’s permission, but trust me, I checked her time and she ran close to the same pace as I. So… yeah. Gonna work on my speed. But I’m NOT running until Wednesday because goddamn.
Yesterday afternoon Holly appeared in running shorts and a tank top and announced she was going running, because she has to run a mile in gym next Tuesday and also she thought she might like to run a 5K sometime. So she went out and ran a half-mile in about five minutes and came back. She said her training schedule is going to be Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, since she doesn’t have anything else to do. AH YOUTH.
She has cardio skills like none other because of ice skating, so I expect she could probably run a mile right now. I would love it if she got into running, because I wouldn’t have to drive her to that activity.
RE: the orthodontia. I think we need two opinions too, but it remains to be seen whether we will do so. Paco is very trusting of dentists and orthodontists and I think they are ALL CROOKS, so we probably ought to meet in the middle. I definitely want Holly to have straight teeth. Luckily she is careful about brushing morning and evening, because that story in the comments about the boy who had braces and didn’t brush his teeth, etc., gave me horror flashbacks to when Elliot was young and would go DAYS without brushing his teeth and just didn’t seem to care. Boys are gross. However, they don’t tend to throw their hairbrushes and go sob in the bedroom.