My stupidity knows no bounds

Generally, when people talk about some incredibly stupid thing they’ve done, they’re really just sandbagging – telling their tale of woe but expecting their friends to say “oh, that’s not so bad.”

This is not what my friends tell me. Ever.

So last weekend I found myself heading to Indianapolis with Deanna, who talked me into doing the Indy half-marathon. For some reason, while I think it’s perfectly reasonable to drive to far southwestern Wisconsin to torture myself on rides like the Horribly Hilly or the Dairyland Dare, traveling to run around doesn’t make as much sense to me. Nevertheless, we went. The ride down there was pretty uneventful, except for the fact that now every time highway traffic slows down somewhat suddenly, I start braking early, sending nervous glances at the rearview mirror and stammering “Uh oh, uh oh, an Assclown Situation!” I’m sure this will continue to make me a popular designated driver for these types of things.

We get to Indy and immediately I start feeling like a munchkin, due to the signs around the city that say “Welcome Mini Marathoners!” The wind is horrendous as we head off to the Expo, where Deanna meets her soulmate: a guy in line before her at the really long “duh, I forgot my registration card they sent me in the mail so I need to wait here” line, who keeps asking her all sorts of pertinent questions, i.e. “Are you racing? Are you running or walking? How fast are you running? Isn’t that pace more like a jog? What’s your cadence? How many gels do you use per hour? You do triathlons, really? Are you sure?” and so on. I had already gone to all the tables at the Expo and signed Deanna up for every footrace in the Western Hemisphere and STILL had to go find her, as she flirted with this guy. So much for her undying love for Drew Peterson! Sheesh.

Anyway, after dinner, we go back to the hotel to get ready for the big race. As Deanna is in the lobby making googly eyes at the 17-year-old doorman, I start unpacking and laying out my stuff. Technical shirt, compression shorts, socks, race belt, shoes........I take out the plastic bag with my shoes, and pull out............my cycling shoes. No, really, I do.

How could I possibly do something so stupid, you/I ask? Well, after my last run/ride, I put my running shoes in a plastic bag, as always, and then for some unknown reason, also put my cycling shoes in a plastic bag, which is something I don’t usually do. Both pairs of shoes are white with blue accents. So naturally, as is my way, I grabbed the wrong shoes. At this point, here were my thoughts:

Thought 1: Shit, I can’t do the race!
Thought 2: Screw that, I didn’t come all the way to Indy to not race. Sunk costs be damned!
Thought 3: Hmm, my sandals have potential.......

Right here is Phase Two of my stupidity, when I put on a pair of socks and then my sandals, jump up and down, run a bit in place, and decide hey, I can run in these!

Luckily, there are people around to save me from myself, somewhat, and in this case, Deanna’s friends wander in at that point and offer up their spare shoes. I have my choice of white tennies, the smushy kind that little old ladies wear as they walk briskly through local shopping malls with elbows akimbo, or the 10-year old pair of too-large shoes with special inserts in them. So with my odd-feeling 10-year old shoes, I’m all set. 13.1 miles in not only “new” shoes, but ill-fitting ones at that. No problem!


Race Day

Deanna has of course signed up for preferred start corral AA, so we leave her and schlub off to our own eye chart corrals, Q, V, Z, etc. There’s a good contingent of crazy people here, as I’m wearing my shirt from the Goofy challenge, and several people bound up to me to tell me that they did it too, so that we can marvel at our mutual insanity. Finally, the race starts, and as always, it takes 20 minutes to get to the start line. Immediately, I have to go to the bathroom, meaning my first 3 miles are at a speedy-for-me 9-minute pace as I look for one. Then, soon enough, we’re nearing the Indy-500 track, but right before the turn-in, I spy some spectators with a little miniature pinscher with them, so of course I have to go over to say hi. Even though min-pins are just the Shrinky Dink version of a real dog, the Doberman, they still warrant a hello. As I’m petting the little guy, scratching his chest, getting a little doggy kiss on my cheek......it occurs to me that this might be one reason why my race times are always so slow.

The Indy track is pretty cool, but who knew that it was more than a mile around? Surely, not me. I thought there’d be some kind of symmetry, i.e. Indy 500 = 500 laps = 500 miles, but noooooooo. Apparently it’s 2.5 miles around or so, and who thought THAT one up??

At this point, two things are occurring to me: 1) that the whole “forget your shoes for a race” is probably not a great idea, and 2) that the whole “having to pee every 5 minutes” thing that always happens to me is really fricking annoying. Because it sounds so lame to have to explain that yeah, I was doing okay except for those 8 minute bathroom breaks every ten minutes, what with waiting in line and all. But then my time starts to matter less, because my feet really really hurt. I stop to see if I can take the inserts out, and no, they’re kind of welded into the shoe. Damn. I try to distract myself by memorizing Bible verses, but there are too many sayings on too many shirts, and I go into platitude overload when I see the shirt that says “The road to success is always under construction.” ARGheeekk! I put my brain back together after it explodes, and finally finish the damn race and go off to find Deanna at our pre-determined meeting spot, after getting loaded down with fruit, water, and cookins by the helpful volunteers. I don’t want to hurt their feelings by telling them that December was Cookins Month. I soon find Deanna.

Me: "Hey, how’s your race go?"
Deanna: "Well, I was supposed to aim for a 2:10 and I ran a 2:06, so I got my PR and my speedy self ran faster than ever but Nancy is going to kill me."
Me: "Congrats, that’s awesome! But why would your coach kill you? Isn’t it good that you ran well?"
Deanna: "I’m supposed to stick to my plan, no variations, so I was supposed to time it so that I finished in exactly 2:10, not one second faster, but I just felt so great, running fast, so I kept running fast. I couldn’t hold myself back! It’s probably because I’m so light and tiny, that I could run so fast! Spry little me! Whee, look at me gmphadfa,........hey, how does this compression sock keep winding up in my mouth?"
Me: "I have noooo idea."
(silence as we start walking after Deanna leaves a message for Nancy)
Me: "So you’re supposed to now ask me how MY race went; otherwise, I’ll have to post my lament on message boards everywhere about how selfish you are, thinking only of yourself."
Deanna: "Well, I figured you’d do about as well as one would expect, running 13.1 miles in someone else’s ill-fitting shoes. How did you do?"
Me, limping: "About as well as one would expect, running 13.1 miles in someone else’s ill-fitting shoes."

On the way back to Chicago, I had agreed to transport three Dobermans back to Chicago from Indianapolis shelters, so Deanna and I head over to the rescue guy’s place, since he had pulled the dogs from the shelters earlier in the day. We get there, meet the pups, and then are told that Roxy has to pee every 5 minutes, Lillian doesn’t seem to like being in a crate, they’ve all had raging diarrhea, and oh, there are no extra leashes so that we can take them for walks on the way back. I’m now envisioning the usual disaster of Tasha-esque proportions, replete with dog crap, whining and barking, etc.

Somehow, someway.............the dogs all behave. Nothing untoward happens. Lillian is so quiet in the crate that I worry whether she’s still alive (she is). Roxy sleeps much of the way, and when she wakes up does nothing more rambunctious than put her paws on Deanna’s shoulder to be petted. And little Derby sleeps half in my purse and half in Deanna’s lap the whole way. I’m not sure how this happened. Do you believe in miracles?