I’m totally rocking my Kiss Me, I’m a Runner shirt from Saturday’s race today at work. So as not to look silly, I also wore jeans, but the work gods got me back for violating dress code. I bumped in to the wall and caught the jeans on a nail–so now my only pair of jeans has a hole in the thigh. Nice. So much for luck of the Irish.
Which brings me to the subject of this post. Yes, you’re right, I really should have done a race preview on the St. Patrick’s Day 8k, but I was wrapped up in training–and I have notorious bad luck with that race. I know the publication that sponsors it calls it the official kick-off to the spring racing season, but I have never finished that race and been like, “That was awesome. I can’t wait til next year.”
It’s no fault of the race. And in it’s defense, it did result in this picture
which is BY FAR the most flattering race pic of me ever taken, camel toe included. But it also resulted in this pic:
The memory of which I had managed to suppress until I found this photo (it’s a Marathonphoto proof) in the same scrapbook as the one above it (which I shamelessly paid money for. I mean, look at my arms!).
That forgotten picture must be from 2004 or so, back when the race was still a 10k, and I got there thinking I was going to destroy it, but instead ran a 54: something IN THAT OUTFIT, which is bad enough, especially since I’d lost a contact right before it, so I was in glasses. But then! I got home to find out that I probably shouldn’t have just thrown on the shirt I wore to rugby practice earlier that week because…it had dirt all over the back of it.
So maybe the race just reminds me of my extremely awkward post-college days. I have no complaints about the 2006 race (it’s first year as an 8k)–it was gorgeous, and I ran with a friend, except that I under-estimated the distance from my house and ended up setting a distance record of 11 miles that day. Thank goodness it wasn’t a 10k. Oh, some a-hole told me that he liked the way my boobs bounced while I was running home. I was pissed and spent the last mile imagining ways to get him back but getting away with it. All my scenarios involved throwing away my race number during my get away, which I didn’t really want to do. (Street harassment is a real problem, people!)
In 2008 I decided to give it another chance. But because Boy Monkey left me alone for the weekend,* I completely forgot to spring forward and realized at 8am that it was 8, not 7. And Boy Monkey had accidentally taken my car key with him on his trip (I had lost the spare a few weeks earlier and had big plans to make a new one while he was gone). I was at the mercy of the blue line, so I ended up starting the race 16 minutes late. No big deal, right, because it’s chip time? Wrong, somehow only my gun time showed up, and my email to the race organizers went unanswered.
So that is why there was no race preview of this race this year. Next year I will be a better purveyor of information. But in the meantime, I’m going outside to enjoy the weather and my Irish heritage, if not my luck.**
*Back in 2008, when I was telling this story to all my friends, someone said I was making women sound bad. I want to be perfectly clear: I am the idiot who cannot take care of herself, not other women. Women as a group are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.
**Boy Monkey says that it’s not that the race is unlucky, it’s just that I’ve gotten better at life since then. But I submit the hole in my jeans from walking in to a wall as evidence against that theory.