Something like that.
Of course, it ended up that I was the chump left in the dust, my fat cells begging my brain for a Milky Way. My 7 year old even beat me. Which is to be expected, as she's built like a little Lolo Jones. I knew the race was going to be a bit more difficult than I imagined when I showed up at the 5k and half of the maybe 40 or so runners were serious runners. They wore actual running clothes, not the cheap Walmart stuff I sport.
Me being the dull crayon that I am I approached the St. Augustine 10k with the same overinflated sense of ability. Because the race was a fair bit away from our house, Matt and I decided to take the family camping over the weekend at a state park in St. Augustine.
The night before the race, I got all my gear ready and set my alarm for 5:30am. That night I had two nightmares, one that my key fell out of my Flipbelt and the other that I woke up at 8 am in my parents' old house and had missed the race completely. I woke up tingling with sweat at 3 am and struggled to get back to sleep.
I did wake up on time and got to the race at 6am. Since it didn't start until 7 am, I had some time to kill. Everyone seemed to be walking around purposefully so I busied myself walking from the portapotties to my Powerade in my car and back again. Columbia, a great Spanish restaurant in the historic district, sponsored the race so they had cookies and bananas and coffee for the runners before the race. It was 48 degrees at 6am and all those poor Floridians were shivering in parkas and gloves, huddled under huge heaters under the tents.
Eventually we all lined up (a sunny 59 degrees at 7) and I became quick friends with the person next to me, both of us joking about our lack of speed. The horn sounded and we were off.
Right away, it was clear that I was surrounded by elite runners. Or maybe they were simply average runners but seemed elite compared to how I was running. Almost immediately, people passed me in astonishing numbers. It was like I was a boulder in a stream and people were just rushing around me. It would have been almost peaceful had it not been so demoralizing.
About 1/2 mile into it, a runner came up behind me, held up a car key and asked "Is this yours?"
That's right. My nightmare came true.
The problem is the Flipbelt is not made for people with muffin tops. It's a flexible belt wore tight around the hips that has slits to hold your cell phone or keys or whatever. Note the difference:
Look closely. One of these women has a muffin top (hint: it's me). So instead of staying nice and flat on boyish hips, my Flipbelt slides above my childbearing hips and gets folded by abdominal fat. Hence, the car key fell out. Thank goodness someone found it. I would still be searching the pavement over that bridge.
Then I had to figure out what to do with the key. I couldn't put it back in the Flipbelt (which works great for my phone). I put it in the only place I could think of - my sports bra. Let me tell you, if running 6 miles with a metal key under your left boob doesn't earn you a medal, I don't know what does. Plus I was paranoid to lose it again so I kept checking to make sure it was there.
That's right. Every couple minutes I would thrust my hand down the front of my shirt and feel around in my bra. Needless to say, my dignity meter was really low that morning.
On top of that, I was so caught up in the beauty of the day and the key and the excitement of the race (people waving and clapping and cheering alongside the road - for me!) that I forgot to breathe very well. So for miles 2-4, I had to jog slowly/walk with my right arm raised over my head in a strange attempt to relieve the stitch in my side. My right arm alternated between being raised up while I shuffled along and feeling around down my shirt.
The last two miles were actually great. I jokingly asked one of the police officers directing race traffic for a ride to the finish. He high-fived me and assured me that he could drive me there and be sneaky about it. We laughed and I continued on.
After the race, Columbia's served up Cuban black beans and rice, a shrimp and scallop dish, their famous 1905 salad, and Cuban bread. There were cookies, water, bananas, cans of Coke, and free beer. All that food and a medal made up for the key fiasco and my laughable pace.
There were a couple kids running with their parents, all boys around 10-12. I went home and told Kate that she should run with me next year and she was all for it, once she found out about the amazing food and the medals. That's my girl.
I'm going to end this post with a little anecdote that has nothing to do with running or races. You can give a sigh of relief if you're sick of hearing about the race now.
Over the weekend at the campsite, I took Noah to the bathroom. Here is a write-up of our conversation in the bathroom stall, keeping in mind that there are other women in the bathroom and he is talking very loudly:
Noah: Do you have boobs? (he talks about them almost every day)
Me: Yes
Noah: Do you like your boobs?
Me: Yes (actually, not especially. Not fun to run with them)
Noah: I like your boobs.
Me: That's nice.
(Here he has a loud bowel movement)
Noah: You hear dat?
Me: Yup.
Noah: Dat's you
Me: No, it's you.
Noah: Yeah, it's me.
Good talking to you, buddy.
