Hey…Do The Double!

Okay...Double Did.

May all your doubles come with McD fries

(don't let me sell you a dream, it was NOT that simple) 

I love a gimmick. Give me a race with a gimmick and I’ll probably insist on paying your registration fee, just so you can experience it with me. Don’t believe me? Ask Erin about the Color Run that we have yet to do in our Drunk1 & Drunk2 t-shirts in San Francisco #Summer2014. So what’s today’s gimmick? 2 Races in 1 Day #SOLD. The Pleasanton Double Road Race had me up at an unholy hour doing ungodly things in the Starbucks a couple miles away from START/FINISH Line. Not really ungodly, but the morning struggle was certainly realized in Starbucks.

Anyway. You have to run a 10K. Then Halftime. Run a 5K. And then, get your medal. Um, I got plenty time for that #signslifeaway! How awesome is that for the last race of the year, right? About that… The last race of 2013 was probably the worst. No really, this was pretty damn bad. Don’t believe me? Just watch #readanduseyourimagination

Pre-Race: So, the City of Pleasanton woke up this morning and decided that they wanted to be the laziest city in California and only pick 36 of ALL THE GOTTDAMN degrees there are in the world! What the hell man?!?!? I swear it was literally the temperature, right before the temperature scientists need for cryostasis. Why are you here right now? There is nothing here for you. Get in your car and go home. Nobody will care. Seriously.

Start: It’s just a 10K. Getcholife. Just run. Quit being a baby all the time. It’s the last race of the year! #Pre14in2014 …you got this. Make Kim proud.

Mile 1: I hate vodka. I really do. And Chick-Fil-A. Gottdamn waffle fries. #bbqsauce

Mile 2: This is quite literally the dumbest idea you’ve ever idea’d. And, your list of dumb ideas includes trying to climb the Le Tower Eiffel. *I’ll write that post when I get the feeling back on the left side of my body* #TheThrill&FeelingIsGone

Mile 3: Wait. A 10K plus a 5K is a 15K. That’s like 6.2 miles + 3.1 miles. *does advanced calculus whist running* WTF! I signed up to run 9.3 miles? DAMMIT! That’s almost like a HALF marathon?! You didn’t train for this! Dummy.

Mile 4: Quit being a punk and make this race your B***H!

Mile 5: Um, I’ve heard good things about b*****s. It wouldn’t be the worst career move. I wonder if there’s a union? #jobsecurity

Mile 6: The devil is a lie. I’m going home. It’s not like anybody will know. My veins, arteries, dreams, aspirations, middle toes and future all share one collective hurt. I’m going to sleep until Tuesday. Wait. I have to go to work tomorrow! Dammit!!

Halftime… “Recovery Zone”: never ending heart palpitations, severe dehydration, attempted surrender #almostdoesntcount #italmostdidtoday. I think I can feel my aorta attempting to climb up my esophagus to die in my mouth. Mostly because that’s the only place where there is any liquid left in my body.

Mile 1(7): I hate everything about myself. What is that saying? The first time it’s a mistake. The second time you ate the wrong mf’ing pill now you’re following a white rabbit into the Matrix and knocking vases over. There are no shoe stores in the Matrix. #WelcomeToHell

Mile 2(8): Don’t be a hero. Just walk. Nobody can see you. I mean seriously, nobody can see you. You might be the last person crossing the finish line.

Mile 9(3): I’m never running again.

Finish: I’m absolutely never taking this medal off. Ever.

Post-Race: *no lives left* *game over*

There are lots of reasons why this race was quite possibly my worst performance on the pavement. Well, first of all, the Bay Area decided not to pay the PG&E bill in November and December so it’s been hella cold. I thought about going to run at lunch one day from the warmth of my office. My entire being clenched up like Miss Celie when Miss Sophia was about to give her the BIZNESS in dem fields. The last time I ran and meant it, I was in Las Vegas. That was November 17^th. Today is December 22^nd. You do the differential equation.

I also decided that the night before The Double was the BEST night to try Hangar One vodka. Objectively speaking, it’s pretty damn good. But, when have I ever been objectively speaking to you? I hate everything about vodka and hangers…just like ole chick #namethatmovie. I never want to see another bottle of that awesome vodka you can totally purchase and gift to me (see website) again! #justcoverthelabel #drinkandbuylocal

I ran and watched as I lost pieces of my life fall to their impending doom #thepavement. The pain I felt on today will always be remembered. Mostly because it reminded me just why I do this. Back at Mile 5 whilst reviewing the benefits package that came along with being one’s b***h #notbad I noticed that I was clearly holding up the rear #practicingformynewjob. I got so sad in that moment. Sad that I might actually come in last. That was a depressing and defeating feeling. I didn’t think about all the reasons why I was in the position I was in (poor planning, training, nutrition, hangers of vodka). I was just jogging and feeling some kind of way. How could I lose? Because that’s what coming in last is, right? Or is it wrong? Losing.

And for some people, tis’true, if they are not first, they are absolutely last #RickyBobby. There is no eternal glory, medals or trophies. The finish line banner has already been torn and the confetti tossed. You would be lucky if anyone waited long enough to see you get your Mr. Irrelevant hat and photo shoot. Who watches all the rounds of the draft anyway? Nobody!  And by nobody, I mean me. But you know where I was going with that…

But what have I been saying to myself all this time that I did not remember on today? This is about earning MY medal. No points for speed, run/jog technique, playlist, pedicure, or outfit. And you know how I feel about putting a look together! Being awesome at all those things is great, but starting and finishing is the only thing that counts when the medal is at stake. Crossing the start line and crossing the finish. Come what may and praying against rain #blackgirlhairprobs. What does it matter that I crossed the finish line after everyone else? Did I cross it? Why is it so damn important to “beat” you?

I hate that I started to make this about someone else. About beating other people. About how people might feel if they found out I came in last (maybe I did today, maybe I didn’t…who’s to say?). It’s always been about me. Me starting. Me finishing. And most of all, #MedalMonday.

2 Races (today)

1 Medal (around my neck)

0 Feeling (in my feet)

Yea, that adds up to a win to me. Even though technically, I ran 2 races and only got 1 medal #TheSwindle.

And yes. I wrote this from the same Starbucks I ungodly’d this morning. I'm back with my medal. And, yes I have on a Cowboys t-shirt from Old Navy, Yoga pants from (old *jokes*) Toni and Cowboys slippers from (old *jokes again*) Uglee. #JudgeMe Only, you’ll have to come here to do it. I can’t move.

Yo, can I get a ride tho? I’m (still) in Pleasanton.

Running Redemption & Real Tears

I should have known something was up. It was too damn easy. I wrote Michelle that letter. She was sooooo apologetic. I let 2012 pass. Nothing. Then 2013 rolls around. The homey (e-boogie a.k.a alicia keyeky a.k.a the real donut monster #nomnomnom) hit me up about it. Vegas. Las Vegas. Strip. THE Strip. At night. #REDEMPTION

Then it happened. I got a $20 off the race registration fees. There is a “free” backpack offer if you register by a certain date. Free entry to pre and post race parties. Hotel vacancies ON the Strip, NEAR the finish line, for HELLA cheap still available a month before the race. I. Should. Have. Known.

Race preparation went well despite an ankle sprain Labor Day weekend. I injured my ankle doing something really physically challenging. Standing up. Ankle compression sleeve seemed to take care of the minor pain and swelling as I continued to train. I was even almost to the point of wearing heels again. These. Were. Signs.

Road trip to Vegas did not work out. Had to find flights at the last minute. And I did. Reasonably priced, considering I bought them the week of the race. And I did not pay attention to any of them. The. Obvious. Signs.

Despite the minor emotional breakdown at baggage claim, I made it to the airport shuttle, to the hotel and even checked in two hours early for free #VegasTotalRewards #MoreCluesIPaidNoAttentionTo. I unpacked my clothes, shoes and flask. I grabbed my wallet and phone, and went for a walk to the Expo. With all this extra time, I thought: Why not stroll down the pavement I intend to run in 24 or so hours? Why. Not?

Expo! I’m there. I’m ready. I even have my pre-printed waiver completed, in hand, ready to be turned in to the next available volunteer. All I need is my bib number, so I can get in the correct line, and its happening. It. Is. Really. Happening.

the devil in a red race bib

Bib 3375? Isn’t that cool? Love the #3. There are 7 of us girlie gurls. And the number 5 is important too, but #illnevertell. Then, I noticed a rather physically fit runner with a bib number 19,000+ pass by. I thought to myself, that’s odd? I registered for this race much later than I did in 2011. Welp?! Maybe they thought to give me this more awesome number since they dissed me in 2011. It’s not like they could forget the epic correspondence from Virginia, right?   

Corral 3? Isn’t that cool. There goes the #3 again. It must be fate. Wait. Last time I did this race, I was in Corral 38. Maybe they don’t have as many corrals as they did last year. But how does that work with thousands of people registered for the race? Whatever, it ain’t my program. Yea I said it. Program #HigherEd. Maybe they want me in the front because I’m cute. That’s cool. I can dig it. I mean, I Am Cute.

Now, all I need to do is get into this expo and make it happen! Free stuff everywhere! Why buy supplements when they are being given away?

     Guy: Yea! Let’s get this done! Are you ready?!  
     Me: Yea, I’m sooo ready for this!

     Guy’s Friend: Let’s Rock This MARATHON! 

     Me: Um, let’s rock this HALF marathon! 

     G: You’re running the Marathon, right? 

     Me: I’m running the Half. Maybe next year I’ll think about a Marathon.

          #ANGTFaMarathonInVegas 

     G’sF: So, why are you registered for the Marathon? O_o

And now we’re all looking at my race bib. It’s red. It’s red just like their race bibs. They are running the Marathon. And apparently, I am too. Running. 26.2 miles. At night. In Las Vegas.

Have you ever heard the expression “real tears”? If you haven’t, you could have seen one in that moment. I shed a single “real tear” in the middle of the Rock N Roll Las Vegas Expo. For the next 20 minutes, my response to everything was “no”. Are you okay? No. Ready to run? No. Are you doing the Marathon? (Hell The F) No. Do you want me to call someone for you? No. What’s your name? No.

I do not recollect many times I have been so scared that I could not come up with a single intelligible response to a question I knew the answer to when my grey matter was still forming. My mind was going in circles #roundandround. I love a challenge. But, I am also quite fond of living with ample health to actually accept and succeed at said challenge. Did you know that the first person to run a marathon died? And now, I have one handed to me in the form of a red race bib. What’s it gonna be?

It’s going to be traded for a gold one. Damn that. To hell. All the way to hell, with a pit stop in Marathon, Greece. Damn that straight to hell on the Las Vegas strip at gottdamn night. I was still trying to figure out how I was going to get my almost healed ankle 13.1 miles, and you want me to do it twice? I would rather (not) leave Las Vegas without a medal, dust my Asics off and try again. #aaliyah

I mean, I do like the number 3.

Well played Michelle.

#BlackGirlsRunLasVegas

I made it to the SOLUTIONS station. They had the solution (what TV show reference was that for bonus points?). After the synapses started working in my brain, I came up with more than just “no” in response to the kind young woman waiting for me to tell her my actual name. She quickly exchanged my race bib. Red became Gold. 3375 became 17864. Corral 3 became Corral 17. And I "became" redeemed.

You know I love a good prank. That was pretty damn good.

Very Well Played Michelle.

13.1 Medal(less) Miles

I ran a half marathon in 2011, I think. I mean, I have a medal to prove it, but no picture. No medal, no staged photo at the finish line, no nothing. Just a memory. A dream I dreamed – but it feels like it’s gone from me. So I did what I always do in moments like these. I wrote a letter. A manifesto if you will about 13.1 medal-less miles.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Competitor Group

San Diego, California 92121

To Whom This Concerns,

 

I was a participant in the 2nd Annual Rock & Roll Half/Full Marathon in Las Vegas this year. I have/had been excited for the experience for quite some time. Having been to Las Vegas numerous times, clearly this event provided me a unique and exciting Las Vegas experience – one the competitor in me just had to be part of! I even attempted to get my friends to join in. Though many could not make it, we have already begun talks of participating in the event next year!

Fairly new to running, I’ve eased myself into it, taking on shorter distance races in my area (Virginia Beach). It just so happened that I participated in the Wicked 10K... An absolutely amazing time running in costume at the beach. Not really knowing what to expect, when I crossed the finish line, I was greeted with a sea of smiles, congratulatory wishes, and a medal of accomplishment – I Finished!

My only goal for the half marathon was to finish. This was a personal goal, and the sentiments of my best friend who awaited me at the finish line. His parting words to me were, “If you want a ride home, I’ll see you at the finish line.”

Between mile 7 and 8, I took my break from running to relax my legs. I told myself this would be a short break, don’t stop moving, finish, because my best friend and that awesome medal is waiting for you at the finish line. As the cold set in and the wind and drizzle came upon me, I shortened that long statement to “medal, finish.”

I crossed the finish line...looked for my best friend to smile for the camera, and gazed around for medals. Though my feet were chilled to the core and my teeth began to chatter, there was enough adrenaline to find it. I joined the line at the information booth, headphones still blasting, waiting in line for a medal. I noticed that the two young ladies in front of me walked away upset. Upon taking my headphones off and observing the irritated look on the volunteer’s face, I soon learned what they did. No more half marathon medals. I was told rather coldly that I would receive my medal in eight weeks via mail.

 

I left perplexed. I debated whether or not to address the manner in which she spoke to me, but knew that no matter our discourse, I would leave empty handed. As I recall the events of this past Sunday, I cannot help but feel that my achievement, finishing my first half marathon EVER, all by myself, is a little sullied. After all, everyone wants to see a photo I cannot produce; me at the finish with my medal. Further, I cannot help but be saddened that whenever I receive my medal it will not be engraved. I was so excited to learn that this could be done at the finish line... I already planned what I would engrave and how my best friend and I would laugh and reminisce on all our accomplishments in that moment. Sure, this can be done by other means, but the nostalgia, memory and feeling that would have been wrapped up in that special moment is gone; he lives in Las Vegas and I reside in Norfolk. That would be an expensive memory to remake.

 

In reflecting on this experience, I think back to the registration process. As I logged on to the “strip at night” website and began the process for what I expected to be the most amazing experience ever, I noticed all the rules, regulations, and disclaimers. Once I signed up and paid my $125 that was it. No changing, no giving my registration to another person if I couldn't make it, no refund if something happened – done deal...show up or lose out.

 

I didn’t register in November or days before the race. I registered around May/June. I agreed to your terms, followed your rules, paid a ridiculous amount to fly across country, was on time for the race, went to my proper corral, competed and most importantly, I finished. While there were thousands of people who performed more excellently than I, besting times and exceeding their personal goals, the fact remains, I did everything I agreed to and was instructed to do, and you did not hold up your end of the agreement.

As a programmer in a University setting, I can imagine the amount of time, energy and effort than goes into large scale events; however I would not presume to know how that is magnified when organizing an event such as a half/full marathon, add to that the location, the Las Vegas Strip! With that being said, I can take a volunteer maybe being a little rude, some piece of the event starting a little late, long lines, or having to stand and wait for an informed and accurate response. What is still difficult for me to excuse is being told that my $125 translates to my receiving specific products, and leaving Las Vegas without a particular item – the one in which I desired the most. Furthermore, there was no consolation, no fix, nothing offered to lessen the disappointment. “We know who didn't get medals; you'll get it in the mail in eight weeks.” It’s not like I could wait eight weeks later to pay you. I received a half-hearted, unapologetic “apology” and a look past me to the next person in line as they prepared to deliver the same news in a similar uncaring manner.

 

I will put what’s left of my faith in your revised word, mail receipt of my medal within 8 weeks. Please know that I am very disappointed. While this has not deterred my desire to run and compete, it has made me question if I should continue racing in your organization's events. I realize that the threat (and this by no means is that) of losing one registrant is not the end of the world and will certainly not ruin you; however, my personal ethics have always been that I first inform the source of my malcontent, before sharing it with others.

Best Regards,

Bib #39840
 

I went back to Las Vegas. #redemption

I received a call the day this letter was received. It was from a rather kind woman named Michelle. We spoke for about twenty minutes about my experience in Las Vegas. She listened as I recited my impassioned story about my less than satisfactory experience. Michelle apologized profusely. She sent me a t-shirt and a medal. Weeks later I received another medal. I consider this matter henceforth, now and forever more…UNRESOLVED!

I want my damn picture! Michelle was nice though…