98 Degrees and No Nick Lachey

I ran a 10K today.  And oh my holy hell, did I feel every K. As Marian the Librarian and I lined up for the start, I was worried.  It was only 9am and it was hot.  Sorry, let me rephrase that.  It was only 9am and it was so hot I was sweatin’ like a whore at bible camp.  And that was just from standing at the starting line! 

When the race started there was a large mass of forward movement.  From where I was positioned, I could see the thousands of racers in front of me stretched up Central Park West like a giant centipede.  It undulated and swayed in a multicolor array of bodies, clothes, and feet.  It was at that point that I decided I was either already dehydrated and hallucinating, or I was part of something big.  I chose to believe the latter.  Did I mention it was hot?  Hotter than the hinges of Hell.

Once we got into the park the shade provided some relief.  Not much, though.  I was so glad that Marian the Librarian was with me.  Chatting with her helped distract me from the heat.  Well, it only provided a little distraction because almost all we could talk about was the heat.  And beer.  Talking about the beer we planned to chug at the end of the race was definitely helpful.  The first fluid area came none too soon.  The stampede to the water tables reminded me of the westerns I watched as a kid when all the buffalo would suddenly startle and go running pell mell toward the cliff.  I swear, if the water table had been at the bottom of a cliff, I would’ve taken a swan dive into a Dixie cup.  Fortunately, that wasn’t necessary.  In addition to the water tables, the race organizers had someone with a huge fire hose spraying water over the runners as we passed by.  Blessed brief relief!

Although I was pretty confident that the heat would take some of the people out of the race, I was also upset that some people weren’t instantly disqualified over poor fashion choices.  Now, I do not have fancy running duds.  I have running/bike shorts that eliminate the chub rub and a t-shirt.  However, I feel very strongly that if you are going to buy fancy running duds that you should buy a racer back bra to go with your racer back running shirt.  How many times do I have to say this folks?  Athlete or A-list superstar, No. Exposed. Bra. Straps!  I asked Marian the Librarian if she would mind if we picked up the pace a bit so I could issue a citation to the fashion wreck a few paces ahead of us.  She was against the idea.  I really think I need to have a chat with Obama and see if he can add this to his platform for the upcoming election. 

Things went along well for a while.  Until today, my longest run had been a little more than 40 minutes.  As we approached the five-mile mark, my race time was about an hour.  I was really proud of myself but could feel the effects of the heat and humidity setting in.  My legs felt great but I could feel my face was flushed and an overall exhaustion began to set in.  I also felt kinda dizzy.  Immediate warning sign of dehydration.  Although Marian the Librarian and I had water at every fluid station, it wasn’t enough.  It was about this time that I questioned the whole intelligent design theory.  Wouldn’t a truly intelligent design have us store water in our thighs like camels?  I mean, if my thighs are going to jiggle anyway, wouldn’t it be better to have that jiggle come from a useful function like water storage than as evidence of my peanut M&M addiction?  At the very least, there could be a place in my thighs to store M&Ms.

Marian the Librarian could see that I was faltering and kept me going with encouragement and threats.  Okay, so maybe she didn’t threaten me, but I honestly can’t tell you what we talked about the last mile.  We passed other runners who had passed out or who just plain ol’ couldn’t make it.  Paramedics and ambulances were almost as prevalent as the racers at this point.  Before I knew it, the finish line was in sight.  There were a lot of people cheering us on the last ¼ mile and it made such a difference.  Between the people at the side of the road cheering for us and Marian the Librarian telling me that she was not going to drag my sorry, sweaty ass across the finish line — Okay, maybe those weren’t her exact words; she might have said something like, “You’re almost there!  You can do it!” but I know she meant, “You’d better do it because I’m not going to drag your sorry, sweaty ass across the finish line!” — I crossed the finished line!  Woohoo! 

It was amazing feeling!  I can’t wait until the next race.  I enjoyed this race but it has made me realize that training for the marathon is going to suck like a Hoover.  Or maybe even a Dyson.  Does anyone even buy Hoovers anymore?  After beer and mozzarella sticks, our traditional post race fare, I made my way home.  Shower, nap, and mindless TV were the order of the day, although I dragged myself to a nearby salon for a pedicure and foot massage.  Heaven!  I called Marian the Librarian later in the afternoon.  While I had been basking in my accomplishment from the comfort of my couch, she had vacuumed her apartment, organized her upcoming vacation, written a novel, and developed a ground-breaking open-heart surgery technique.  It made me tired.  So I took another nap.  And then wrote this post.  The end.

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