September 2008
What do you get when you bake an overweight runner at 85 degrees (full humidity) for 2:18:57? A Rock-n-Roll Half Marathon finisher for the 7th straight year! Yes, this is what I work so hard for all year long. It’s exhausting I tell ya. I spend all year building my carb reserves (and then some) for those 13.1 miles. That takes some planning. How many calories to eat vs. calories burned vs. calories stored. I developed a pretty scientific equation that I will reveal for the first time here on the SIF blog. You take one part slow running to 10 parts binge eating, add in a titch or random walking and then 10 parts emotional eating. You quickly end up with a slow moving fat ass but you cross the finish line a happier fatty for it. This year brought all kinds of drama. It all started when “they” stuck me in corral 24 with the “bigins”….
So every year I sign up for the race as soon as I get back from the run. No, not out of excitement. You get $15 off. I’m cheap and let’s face it…$15 is alot of super-sizin. As is always the case, I select my predicted finishing time by taking this years finishing time and subtracting 20 minutes. Why? Because I’ll be 10-20 pounds lighter next year… of course! When I received my initial packet of info, I was horrified. Runners are corralled by their predicted finish. These corrals start with (1)– Kenyans and end with 24– Fatties. Who do you suppose got stuck in 24 this year? Me! I went to the Expo fuming mad. I had to make a case to break from the “cluster of fat cells”… but what would I say? Had they figured me out? Did they look back and see that not only did I not lose 1 pound but that I had in fact gained 20?! Put me in the Clydesdale division…fine… not corral 24 with the fatties! I arrived at booth #24 pissed off and ready to rage war. I had to wait in line behind women ranging from a 2x to 24x. Nice. My friend Tara got a good laugh. When I got up to the skinny bitch with the numbers I started going on and on about how there must have been some sort of drastic mistake bcs I did not in fact deserve to be herded with the rest of the cattle. She simply smiled and said, “Corral changes are across the way.” Evil whore. So there would be no changing my actual race number from 24060 to something closer to my dress size. Nope. I would get a nice green sticker with a “14” to signify that this fatty was movin on up. Let’s face it…14 was close enough to my dress size.
Now that all of that was out of the way, time to look for free goodies and food samples. Hint…when you get there early you get in on all of the good samples. Tara and I cleaned up. We left with everything from glow in the dark Glade lights to Snickers Marathon Bar samples. Just enough to make me hungry! It was time to carbo load. Off to Rudees for Bloody Mary’s and burgers. I failed to mention that Tara and I were hungover from the night before. It’s all about preparation. We didn’t plan on getting drunk until her slow talking southern neighbor came by to share short stories that were equivalent in length to War and Peace. Have you have ever spoken to someone who can make HELLO a fourteen syllable word? It’s quite painful. Add to that…she’s 540 years old, looks better than me and has a perfect husband….now you see where the drinking came in. When she said he vacuumed, I had to go inside. I can’t get mine to make friends with the garbage can much less small machinery. So Tara’s idea of hangover food was more drinks and a salad. Mine was somewhat similar sans the salad add burger/fries. Then we took in the new Woody Allen movie and decided we needed to move to Barcelona for a tryst. Working on the details of that trip. Then it was back home for pasta and wine. It’s a delicate balance.
Race day was craaaazy. Normally Tara’s hubby gives us a ride to the start before the roads close. He was otherwise indisposed so we had to walk…2 miles to get to the start of a 13.1 mile race. Lovely. Our stomachs were nervous. Can’t be sure why. As soon as we got there we jumped in line for the porta potties. If you haven’t been to a running event and smelled the PP’s, you are one lucky individual. Imagine this…take baby shit, rub it in dog shit, let it rot in the sun and then poor some piss on it. Ahhh…the smell of runners. Stank ass! The wait for relief took about 30 minutes. Then we rushed off to CORRAL 14 like civilized humans. Bla bla itwas really hot and we ran for a long time. Here’s the down side…when you run in the heat for hours…you can’t eat for a really long time bcs your stomach is mad at you! It’s the only noted time in history when I am not binge eating. I think I should be left in the sun to rot more often. Did I mention the 3 mile walk back to Tara’s house? Kelly’s log book, race #7…that’s 18 miles of foot to pavement! Enough! Got back to Tara’s and hung out for a while. Rigamortus set in and it was time to roll. I had a plan…
Even though I wasn’t hungry I would force myself to go to McDonald’s bcs my Garmin said I burned 1636 calories and that wasn’t counting all the walking. I was in a deficit for the first time all year. #2, super sized with a Coke please! It was heaven. That was followed by an entire day of carbo reload. It’s medically necessary you see. All in all a great weekend! I brought the ratios into alignment and had a medal to prove it. Oh and I watched Tara eat 6 pieces of pizza. Fascinating. For the first time we agreed on something. Thin slice pizza only counts as half a slice. It’s just a fact. I’m preparing for next year as we speak… let’s hope that doesn’t land me back in corral #24!