If I keep at this pace, it will take me nearly as long to write about this damn race as it did for me to train for it.
I believe I left you at my pre-race mental pep talk on Part One of my race report, around the time I resorted to sacrificial offerings and asking for salvation from imaginary gods. Let’s continue, shall we?
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Influencing people to do things they never thought they’d do is cool, and I enjoy it. I’d make it a hobby if I knew more than 6 people. B swears he’d still be a Wendy’s Triple Double and Chicken Fingers/Fries kinda guy, halfway to a heart attack if we hadn’t met. While that might be true (but kind of extreme), I will definitely take credit for his new hummus-loving healthy lifestyle. I’ll also take credit for him becoming a marathoner, even though he completed a full before I did. I started running first, so I automatically get the credit, those are the rules.
Cleveland was the third race B and I ran ‘together’. The other races (a half in Youngstown, and a half (me) and full (him) in Columbus) we were living long-distance so didn’t actually train together. Even though we don’t run together-together (he’s too fast, and I prefer to run alone) it helped having somebody to motivate, and empathize with during training. I’d feel guilty skipping the gym if he was packing up to go. We’d have long conversations about our phony mental approaches to long runs. We’d sit on the floor and watch Biggest Loser while icing our aching knees/feet/hips/hams/toes/ears/whatever. [Sidenote : watching fat people in the gym is much easier post-workout. Quite guilt-inducing if you opted to play hookey that day]
I know – sick, cutesy, happy running couple. Gag. At least we don’t wear matching work out outfits :
corrupted inspired B to be a runner. [On another side note, doesn't it kind of suck when you introduce somebody to something really awesome, and they end up being better at it than you? Whatever.] The point is, I also corrupted (fine, inspired) another friend to join the cult, and Cleveland was to be her first half marathon. Two points for the Good Guys.
[On yet another side note, I'm ashamed to say newly corrupted runner friend and I didn't get a picture together race weekend, and all other photos of us are much too inappropriate for a classy blog such as Once Upon a (L)ime.]
The story continues the night before the race, in our 90% packed-in-boxes, ready for the cross country move condo. BHibs (non-photographed, inappropriate runner friend) is staying with us because it’s a far drive from dirtynastygross Ytown, and because I was nervous she’d try and park her car at the starting line if we let her navigate race-morning on her own. The three of us are watching the Indians lose and tying to make ourselves tired at 8pm, so we can get up for our insanely early 4:15 wake up call.
I’m wondering what the hell we’re going to do with the un-sliced bagels we bought for breakfast, since we have neither knives nor toasters unpacked, and how the hell I’m going to get my coffee fix if the Brewmaster is packed and Starbucks isn’t willing to open two hours early for me. BHibs made note of her very honest concerns about drinking coffee, the “jiggle effect”, and only having portapotties along the course. We decide at that point it’s time for bed, and that we’ll pick up orange juice for Beck in the morning.
The actual race report, action shots, some cameo appearances, and the mean prank my left foot played on my right knee is to come (sooner than later). Stay tuned!
Writing about running is more tiring than actually running,
To Be Continued…