Monday: Bombing in Boston
Wednesday: Plant explosion in West Texas
Saturday: Earthquake in China
Tomorrow: Locust swarm? Plague? WHAT THE FUCK IS NEXT?
I’m starting to think these Doomsday Preppers aren’t as crazy as they seem.*
So that relay I’ve been whining about for weeks and weeks? It went surprisingly, shockingly well. My oddly specific dream time, you remember (because I know you read and savor every word I publish), was 55:12 for 6.9 miles and and I clocked in at the exchange point in 55:11. No shit! Of course, there wasn’t a timing mat (FFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUU) so you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Splits were posted for all entrants except the relay teams (so I’m not really sure why we even wore chips), but as a team we finished in 3:34:15, 9th place out of 66. This was probably my only chance to ever be involved in a 3:3X marathon finish, so that feels incredible. From now on, I will casually mention in blog and Twitter posts that I run a 3:34 marathon and anyone who dares to question me will be blocked for life.
It was really, really, unseasonably, ridiculously, brutally fucking cold. Being the stupid twat that I am, I did not bring any throw-away clothes. I did a little warm-up jog from my car to the starting area, but by the time I actually started the race, my hands and feet were frozen and my teeth were chattering. I don’t remember having ever been so cold in my life. I might not even be hyperbolizing. It took two miles before I could feel my feet. I was afraid I’d somehow hurt myself because I couldn’t feel my foot strikes, but I think it actually made me run faster.
Another motivating factor: this girl on another relay team who didn’t acknowledge me when I made some dumbshit casual remark to her during the race, so my new objective became leaving her in the dust.
I really don’t have anything earth-shattering to say about this race so instead of putting you to sleep with a tedious recap of each mile, I’ll just fast-forward to the end.
So, finishing your race at a lone exchange point 6.89097856 miles into a marathon course is a little anti-climactic. No announcers calling out finish times, no crowds cheering, no cowbell, no bananas and bagels, no bloggers prancing back across the finish line to get better race photos. Just you and some volunteers and a bunch of other sweaty people looking around expectantly.
There were supposed to be shuttles from all the exchange points back to the start/finish, but I didn’t wait around long enough to see one. There was a more direct route back that was just four miles, so before I had the chance to start getting cold again, I just started running. [insert your favorite Forrest Gump animated gif here.]
I ended up logging more than 11 miles yesterday, my longest run in almost four months.
How about a picture??
That’s my friend Susie! She just had a baby three months ago and she’s a badass.
P.S. I know I haven’t been blogging about beer lately, which is supposedly the other half of this blog’s focus, and I have a good explanation for that: I’m pregnant. KIDDING. I just haven’t had any beers that were noteworthy. But I picked up a Three Floyds after the race and it was accidentally the most appropriately named post-race beer ever.
This beer is a saison or farmhouse ale. 7.4% ABV, 25 IBUs. I drank a saison once a long time ago (I forget which one) and I didn’t like it very much so I haven’t tried a lot of other ones since then. I know that’s really immature of me but deal with it. I should have remembered that beers of the 3F variety have a way of surprising you**. This was was super light and fizzy with some spices and tart flavors and it was incredibly easy to drink. I finished it and immediately passed out.
Actual FIN. (Or SLUT, if you’re Tracy, apparently.)
*I’m not being flippant about these tragedies. Rather, I don’t think there’s ever been a better time to curl up inside a bottle of vodka. You’ve had a rough week, you deserve it.
**Have a deceptively high alcohol content.