If Miles Were Measured in Donuts
I haven’t written much about my marathon training lately because most of it consists of things like, “Oh my holy hell, it’s hot y’all!” and “Someone talk me out of this madness!” But overall it’s going well. I have about seventeen weeks until the marathon. Yes, seventeen. I had to make a wee change in my plans. I am not going to Florence for the marathon. Now, before you get your panties in a bunch, I am still running a marathon. It’s just not in Italy. It’s in Massachusetts. Cape Cod, to be exact. Racing in Florence with a weak dollar and the cost of everything rising due to oil prices seemed like a big burden right now. So, instead, I decided to race in Cape Cod, which is just like Italy with fewer popes.
Why Cape Cod? Well, everyone knows that Italy is shaped like a boot, but did you know that Cape Cod is shaped like an arm? Check it out on a map. I am all into running in places shaped like extremities, so Cape Cod and Italy were the natural next choices after my first race in Manhattan. Hey, if any of you are truly disappointed by this change in plans, I will reluctantly accept donations of cash, air miles, free drink coupons, duty free discount certificates or, hell, any old thing, toward the Send Dingo to Florence fund.
The Cape Cod Marathon is sponsored by Dunkin Donuts because, you know, donuts and exercise go hand in hand. I’m counting on them to have donut holes at every water station. Or even instead of water stations. I can bring my own freakin’ water, but I want to make Dunkin Donuts put their “America Runs on Dunkin” money where my mouth is.
While my race training has gotten tougher and the hills don’t seem to be getting any easier, I have reached a running milestone. The other day, I finally passed the old lady with a walker I see on the park track all the time when I run. And I did it with style and only a small amount of gloating because I’m just humble like that. When I first started running, Old Lady With Walker would kick my ass. She would come out of nowhere and I’d think, “I may be slow but at least I can beat Old Lady With Walker.” Only, I couldn’t. I could never catch up to her.
At first, I thought I had the upper hand. OLWW is always dressed from head to foot in a white calf-length puffy coat — the kind you wear when the New York winter is at it’s worst and the mayor is telling everyone to stay home from work so the snow plows can do their job — and leather gloves. She looks like the Michelin man, except I don’t recall ever seeing sweat stains under his armpits. Anyway, I figured if I couldn’t catch up to her on my own power, she’d eventually fall out from heat stroke and I’d be able to hurdle over her prone body and claim victory. Unless I was really tired from running. Then I would have to step on her. Gently.
But I think OLWW has a tricked-out walker. It’s sort of the Sports edition of walkers. It has thick SUV wheels on the back legs and tennis balls on the front ones. Tennis balls! How could I compete with that? She pushes this walker up and down the hills of Central Park like she just won a $5000 shopping spree at Tar-zhay and has only five minutes to reach the check-out line. I thought, “Day-um! I should be able to beat OLWW!” But I just couldn’t. The distance between us would continue to increase until finally she came around behind me.
And then.... this week, the impossible happened. I passed OLWW. I didn’t just pass her. I passed her going uphill! I was ecstatic. Rocky Balboa couldn’t have been more pleased when he reached the top of those famous steps than I was at that moment. I heard his theme music in my ears, danced a jig and did a couple of fist pumps in the air before becoming so out of breath my vision began to blur. But I wanted to savor my victory. So I turned around to see if she was choking on my dust. Folks, I am just mastering the art of forward movement. Running backwards is the Ph.D of coordination and apparently I don’t have that gift. I tripped. And fell.
The world looks completely different when you are only six inches off the ground. I did not relish having the Nike Swoosh tattooed onto my forehead by the approaching runners who did not stop. Yeah, no one stopped. They just kept on running although I think I heard one woman say something to her running buddy about stepping on me gently. Through my haze of embarrassment, I swore I could hear OLWW’s wicked cackle as she anticipated leaving walker tracks across my outstretched body, so I quickly jumped up and continued my run.
You would think making a complete ass of myself would dial back my snarkometer to acceptable leveIs, but you would be wrong. The only thing that can make you feel better after an incident like that is to make fun of someone else. It’s really not hard to do. At my pace, there is plenty of snark material running right past me every few seconds. The normal people pass me too quickly to fully engage my Bitch Vision, so all I’m left with is the freak parade. Now, I know what you are thinking, and shame on you. I am not a freak. I just run like one.
I was not disappointed. Two of my favorite runners appeared up ahead and instantly lifted my mood. First there was the guy who runs like he’s on his way to a Broadway audition or the Extreme Cheer Challenge competition. Arms bent at the elbow, fingers fully splayed, he has the perfect jazz hands. My internal iPod doesn’t know whether to start humming tunes from A Chorus Line or reciting dialogue from Bring it On: In It To Win It . (Shush! Don’t judge me! I’d like to see your DVD collection!) I always want to slap a Spirit Stick into his hands just to see what happens.
Speaking of flashy numbers, did you know they make gold lamé running shorts? Well, they do! And my second favorite runner, Lame Lamé, has a pair for every day of the week. Either that or she wears the same ones over and over again, but that’s just too nasty to think about. Luckily, they make gold lamé running shorts in various sizes so you can choose ones that are two sizes too small, allowing everyone to see the shape of your girl bits. I am glad I wear sunglasses because the reflection off her ass can scorch your corneas. When she passed me the other day, the heat from her vulva-laser caused me to stumble, but I somehow maintained my balance. Not only would falling twice in the same run have been mortifying, but it would be a sad day indeed if the last sight I ever had of this world was a pornographic baked potato and OLWW tennis balls approaching my forehead.
Posted on Monday, June 23, 2008 at 01:29 PM.
Tags: Fashion is Smashin'!, Leaps and Pounds, Marathon Madness
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Comments & Trackbacks
See? This is why I don’t run. Too damn dangerous. I’ll stick with camping out in the wilderness with the bears and what not. Even if I am, one day, sniffed out by a bear, I know he sure as hell won’t be wearing gold lame shorts whilst mauling me for my Clif Bar…
Oh my God, I can actually almost SEE this scenario, which is really, well, okay, vulva laser? Guh. I don’t like the image, I don’t want the image, yet-there it is. Seared into my own corneas. Nice. 
If miles were measured in donuts, I might actually take up running.
Tell me when you’re going to be on the Cape - maybe I can conspire to be there around the same time!!
Jogging for donuts? Sounds right up my alley. I always wonder who came up with the tennis-ball/walker combo--shouldn’t the medical equipment community be all up on that? I mean, there’ve got to be able to figure out something better than slicing up some tennis balls and cramming them onto your walker legs. Then again, perhaps OLWW isn’t on the cutting edge of home medical equipment.
Okay I’m going to have to start wearing a diaper when I read your posts, because vulva laser almost made me pee my pants.
Are you okay after your fall? Did you skin your knees or hurt your palms or anything? I hope OLWW isn’t doing the Cape Cod marathon with you…
GeekHiker — There’s bad runway fashion and then there’s bad run way fashion. Either way, this woman missed the mark. And, I don’t think anything or anyone is going to be mauling you for a Clif Bar. You can have those all to yourself.
Kori — I hope you don’t have nightmares tonight.
saratogajean — Yeah, I’m not getting the whole tennis ball thing. I can’t believe they haven’t come up with a better solution. I don’t think OLWW is on the cutting edge of anything.
Mel Heth — I think a vulva laser is going to be the next Bond Girl secret weapon. Nope, didn’t hurt myself and even if I did, you know I would’ve faked that I was a-okay. Especially since no one stopped to help anyway.
i agree with mel - vulva laser had me convulsing. i actually started choking on my own saliva. between that and the lame (where the hell is the accent mark on this keyboard) and your picture, i can’t stop laughing. can you please start running with a camera?
Cape Cod?! Dude, you’re totally coming to Boston for lunch and drinks, right?!
holy. vulva laser. funniest thing i have read all day.
blakspring — I think that on one of my “off” days when I’m not running, I’ll walk my route with my camera.
NPW — It’s a date! Now I’m even more excited about it being in MA!
Mrs Chili — I don’t know how I missed responding to your comment earlier especially since I’ve been thinking all afternoon about how to organize the meet-up. I would love to see you!
I swear, you make me snort every single day. Why don’t you come run in Michigan? We’re shaped like a HAND!
If there were a limitless supply of Dunkin’ Donuts along race routes, I might consider digging out my running shoes and taking up jogging again. (I’ve never actually run before--no one has ever chased me with a machete or other life threatening tool, so it hasn’t seemed necessary yet.)
Marathons? Now you really are my hero. I can only seem to run when chased. The idea of possibly getting a daily dose of a gold lame camel toe has given me the motivation NOT to take up running. Thanks!
Ree — Ohhh! A hand! Now I’m going to have to search for races in Michigan.
Wickedly Scarlett — I’m counting on an unlimited supply or donuts on this race or I’m going to be complaining mighty loudly about false advertising. You don’t call a race the Dunkin Donuts Cape Cod Marathon if it’s not all about the donuts, right?
Jenn — Now that I’ve conquered OLWW, my goal is to pass lamé woman so I never have to stare at her glowing orbs again.
I’m so glad a whole ocean separates me from the vulva laser.
I want to comment on so many things about this post but all I can think about is donuts and gold lame and my God what are people thinking?
Marjolein — I can find some and ship them to you if you like. You will be the envy of your block.
Crissy — I bet if I eat enough donuts that gold lamé will become stretched to the point that it becomes sheer. Now that’s a visual image for ya’.
I was in *hysterics* reading this. And I can just see all those types in CP. Are you sure Lame Lame isn’t Richard Simmons in disguise? Are you sure it’s a vulva-laser? Seems he invented that style. Lame and/or stripes.
That’s a bummer about Florence, but Florence is hotter than hell in the summers… go for those cool Atlantic breezes and think hard that that’s the reason you made the switch.
Great post - I hope you whip OLWW again soon (without the fall this time).
Good luck with your training! One of my dearest friends lives in the Cape, btw. She loves it there.
Oooh no, I don’t do running. At all. Especially in vulva laser shorts.
Jenofa2eatwrite — I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Richard Simmons because it was DEFINITELY a vulva laser.
Lunanik — I am looking forward to some lobsta and butta after the race!
Marjolein — Oh come on, you can wear them in your bellydancing classes, right?
I’m pretty sure “vulva-laser” is the funniest thing I’ve ever read. I had to sit back, wipe away a tear and try to quell my uproarious laughter after reading this post. Thank you. You have made my Tuesday.
You’re too funny! Good luck on the marathon!
Why are arms called extremities, I wonder?
Rachel — The vulva laser brings tears to my eyes as well. Sadly, they are not tears of laughter.
April — Thanks, April! Mr. Google is generally chock full off useful information but he let me down this time. I have no idea why arms are called extremities.
“Just like Italy with fewer popes” = hilarious. As is the rest of this post.
Also, a marathon? Rock on, yo.
I thought I’d commented on this yesterday but I guess not. The Internet fools me again.
Anyway, if all marathons had doughnut sponsors, I’d have run a lot more marathons by now. As for lying on the ground being passed by other runners, that incident would appear in several chapters in the book of my life. As would gagging at the sight of the tastelessly dressed runners.
Jane — Hi Girl! You must’ve commented just as I was posting responses. Sorry I missed you. Anyway, yeah, the vulva laser? Definitely UNHOLY.
Lara — Hey, you should prepare for one as well. Running your 5K will leave you addicted for more.
justrun — I hope the marathon will have runners dressed like normal folk. I’d hate to scarf down a donut just to have it come back up a few minutes later.
Makes sense to me! Florence would have been awesome, but also way expensive. At least you’re still doing a marathon! That’s awesome!!!
Mmm. Donuts.
As for the lamé shorts, who does she think she is, Kylie Minogue?