Pink. Boas. Tiaras. Tutus. Roses. This was just some of the schwag you got when you ran Divas San Francisco today. I usually am not one who goes after that kind of a race. However, several months ago, my Gal Pal #1 and I bought bibs for this race. Last week, I sold my bib and decided not to run, thinking it wouldn’t be a good idea to run a half 2 weeks after a full. Lo and behold, i end up with a bib anyway. It’s like I was supposed to be out there today for some reason.
Gal Pal number #1 and I hook up this week when she asks if she can pick me up and take me with her to the hotel…Gal Pal #2 gets my bib…and the universe starts in motion for today’s race.
We drive over to the race yesterday. Now, here’s the misleading part. This race is not in San Francisco, it’s in Burlingame. The race touts itself as “you’re only steps away from beautiful bay views”…One of the first misnomers of the weekend. We check into the hotel, and start non-talk talking and laughing that ended only 24 hours later. Not once did we turn on the tv. Just talk, talk, talk…including a speaker phone call from another friend of ours where, we…talk.
Dinner consisted of a Mexican restaurant that featured the weirdest karaoke songs. Plus, we didn’t connect the inflated tequila bottles and insane noise with Cinco de Mayo. We both had enchiladas and broken chips, and tried to figure out where the start line was. We wandered into something known as Prime Time, and after that bizarre experience, headed home to look for chocolate, which was not to be.
This morning, Gal Pal 2 & 3 drove in to Burlingame, and we all started prepping for this race.
My foot was jacked from the pre-marathon injury two weeks ago, but Gal Pal 2 also was injured. We had agreed to run it together. Run or walk, whatever.
Mile 1-5 were pretty much bliss at 11:30 pace. I felt trained, and was starting to connect to some redemption from the race I had pinned my hopes on the week beforehand. I hopped onto the side at 5.5, and went to the bathroom, losing my last pair of Dollar Store gloves to the task at hand. We turned around at mile 6.5, and started the second half on the hottest and most uneven pavement there was.
At Mile 8, she started singing PayPhone by Maroon 5 which has been my personal go-to song of late. She and Ali both know…this is my anthem right now. She starts singing, and I try to make my music louder. She starts, and I start. Talking. To anyone around me. On why that’s my theme song. On the emotional redemption I need on this course today. She and I run, walk, run. It passes.
Then, the water stations are filling water out of garbage cans, there is no Gatorade, and did I mention it was hot?
We finished the race in under 3 hours, which was the goal. around 13:00 minute mile. The initial quick pace was hampered by the jacked up foot aching, and then all of a sudden a knee snap, and a quad muscle that flings out into the universe. Me. Limping, but running. So yeah. There’s another half marathon in the books.
But. I will tell you. These lady’s races aren’t really for me. I could have gagged with the amount of perfume, the massive sea of pink, the tutus and jewels. It’s really not me. I’m more of a road race without frills kind of girl. I want the race organizers to spend money on more volunteer stations, more drink, maybe some nutrition. They are now pandering to the chicks who run. Lots of fun, but less aura of a challenge than, say…Fresno Half Marathon. Like Rock N Roll and even NIKE, these type of races are becoming machines. Big money makers, with…no prize money for the winners today? (I haven’t checked, just heard this.)
So. We drive home. I’m in Compression Socks and drinking ice water. Tired.
I turn on a movie I DVR’d a few weeks ago. The Bodyguard. Given that the weekend Whitney Houston died, I was busy rebuilding something broken, which is now broken again…this may not be my best choice for the night.
However, I had a lovely time this weekend. Lots of good talk, good friendship, healing tender mercies, new surprises…and yeah. Left some angst on the course.