13.1

It had been awhile since I had run a long race. Let me be more specific... it had been 4 years, 3 moves, 4 months of Physical therapy on my knee, 3 different boyfriends, 1 area code change and 2 jobs since I've run anything longer than a 5k. I ran a marathon for charity years back and established that as the single most difficult endeavor in my life. I'm pretty sure I decided I was never going to run over a 5k again.

As the years passed, I suddenly find myself at the starting line gearing up for the DC National Marathon. It's still dark out and I find comfort in the Starbucks hut... where they provided me with a free slap shot of liquid crack. It was early, raining and certainly not a great way to start my weekend but I sucked it up and prepared my mind and mp3 for the long haul.

The gun went off and I felt fantastic. I mean, I was really doing this again and next thing I knew 4 miles has passed. Yeah, so about that. I spend the next 4 miles realizing this whole bronchitis ailment may actually affect my ability to BREATH. Imagine that! Just when I'm feeling like I might actually die right there in our fine nation's capitol, I see what appears to be a hill. I mean seriously... don't put that crap in my path. At that point, all I wanted to do is run in a dark alley in Southeast and hoped I'd get jumped.

It's amazing the ideas ... let me rephrase... crazy thoughts that consume your mind when running distances. It's a lot of time to spend by yourself. I'd like to give a special thanks to the Red Hot Chili Peppers, U2, DJ Tiesto, Madonna and Barry White. Without all of you, I would have never been able to pull my ass up that second hill these crazy ass officials decided to throw my way.

I saw a couple disturbing things on my brisk morning shimmy through the city. A guy running with no shoes, a man juggling the whole time while still managing to pass me... jerk... and of course my favorite: the guy with man boobs. I was determined if i were going to accomplish anything that Saturday morning, it would be to beat him. Those tight ass shorts, cottage cheese legs and man boobs. We could have not looked any more opposite in body frame, yet he managed to stay at my pace. Maybe it's that I just sucked that much that I managed to keep his pace. Hmm...

So, I wonder if the measurer people (or whatever they are officially titled) actually took the time to trot their course and see how it made them feel. Doubtful.

Besides the 2 hills, dead open gutted cat, fat asses in the their yards yelling at me to run faster (BASTARDS... karma is a bitch and maybe that was their cat), rain, battery in mp3 player dying with a mile to go and 25% lung capacity, I felt it was a success. I ran around 2:30 and wasn't exactly thriled. Oh, and I'm informed that the finish line was actually 1/4 mile longer... That was so not even funny. They adjusted our times but I still will never get that handful of minutes back in my life.

Finally, this is the part where I'd like to thank the Budlight truck for providing me with a large amber brew in that fancy plastic cup. You eased my pain even it were for only a few minutes. And a special no thanks to the hired photographer. My picture sucks and I'd appreciate it if you stop emailing it to me as a reminder. I don't want it. I have my medal and now everyone at Whitlows brunch that morning knew I ran. That's good enough for me!