If you’re new here and want to read about my
crazy awesome goal, here you go.
I would really love to make the story of Lucky #7 be worthy of following an entire post dedicated to my boobs, but sadly, I cannot.
Because when I say “Lucky” I actually mean the worst possible way that I can think of besides water torture in the eyeballs to spend over 5 hours of your day. I am usually much more glass-half-full and all that business, but there just is no way to sugar-coat this one.
Oh, and speaking of water torture, did I mention it was raining? I actually LIKE running in the rain. Usually. In fact, it’s my weather condition of preference when I’m out on a run.*
*BIG HUGE FAT DISCLAIMER: As long as my shoes – and feet! – do not get wet.
I bet you can guess where this is going. Yes indeedy, my shoes and feet were SOAKED THROUGH within 30 minutes of starting the race. Why? I’ll tell you why.
Because it POURED before the race started.
It POURED while the runners waited patiently in their time corrals to get going.
It POURED during hour one. two. three. four. five. and then it POURED some more.
Not to worry, though. It totally stopped raining the second I crossed the finish line.
Here is my very sad, sad time:
Let’s just turn this frown upside down and enjoy the experience by way of some fun pictures, shall we?
Here I am, all dry feet and happy!
My super wet and super supportive crew:
The best race bibs IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE:
I ran this race in honor of my dear friend Fatima who was in the middle of breast cancer treatment. Forget everything I said above about having wet feet and being miserable.
There I am! About to finish, and still standing! Yay!
Here they are again. I love these wet people:
How can one possibly wear a frown when they have a mug like this to kiss?
Here’s the deal: I finished.
I pushed on, even though I was miserable and calling my husband on my cell phone every few miles crying hysterically. I’ve said it before and I’ll just go ahead and say it again:
I don’t do marathons – EVER – for a time goal. What is “slow” to me might be fast for you, and vice versa.
That’s not what it’s about (for me). The reason I find my time for this race so very sad, sad is that I know what I was FEELING for those 5:25 hours. And it was. not. pretty.
But those 5:25 hours are behind me now, so let’s move on!
On today’s to-do list? In keeping with the theme of “5” I’ve got a 5-miler scheduled. If it takes me 5:25 hours, please send help.
How do you feel about the rain? I’d love to hear from you!