Note: this is some stupid shit I do here. As usual.
Don’t try this at home.
It
started with the bronchitis. Or whooping cough. Or typhoid. One of those. Yes,
I did my usual thing of having a hacking cough for months until I went to the
doctor – partly because I hadn’t yet found a doctor in the bucolic town of
Bedford FallsSilverton, and partly because I’m an idiot that way. Oh, let’s be
honest here: total idiocy.
So
when I get to the point where the cough is a fiercely burning pain in my chest
and it’s keeping me up at night, off to the doc I schlep. Where, of course, he
falls under my spell immediately, based on our conversation:
Me: Terrible cough, blah blah blah…
Doctor: Okay, so….
Doctor: Okay, so….
Me (interrupting): Mayhap might it perchance be
whooping cough?
Doctor: Whoopin….well, I suppose…
(We
discuss our mutual hatred for anti-vaxxers and immediately form a mutual
respect society, membership of 2.)
Me: Perchance might I have…..pleurisy?
He
looks at me with what I am positive is admiration shining from his eyes.
Doctor: Wow, you’ve really done your research, haven’t
you?
Me, modestly: Well, I do like to keep up on all the
latest old-timey diseases that a person can be stricken with at any moment.
I’m
sure it was just a sign of his efficiency and high demand that he bustled out
of there pretty quickly, leaving a little vapor trail. Positive.
Anyway,
where was I? Oh yeah. So. Two days after said diagnosis I was off on a
cross-country sojourn to continue my idiotic tale of stupidity, which began a
month beforehand when I did the Tinkerbell Half Marathon at DisneyLand in
California. Actually, that journey began some months before that, when I let
myself be sucked in by the promise of even more shiny medals (to add to the
ones sitting in a box somewhere at The Manor) to add to my collection. By doing
the half at DisneyLand AND the half at DisneyWorld, I’d get not only a medal
for each race, but also a third coast-to-coast medal!
I
know exactly what you’re thinking at this point. Namely: what the fuck, Miss
Tasha?
Because
you see, I don’t train for these things. Oh sure, I have the best of
intentions, but, well, let’s look at what happened.
1) Miss
Tasha decides to find her running shoes
2) Miss
Tasha has no freaking idea where they are
3) But
surely they’ll turn up? I just have to sort through hundreds of boxes
4) Who
the hell has time for that? But I’m sure they’ll magically turn up
5) Two
weeks before race day, I decide they’re not going to turn up. I buy the
cheapest shoes imaginable.
6) I
break them in through my daily morning walkie with Kone. Tearing after him as
he bolts after squirrels and stupid cats counts as running, right?
So
you see my usual trajectory. In this case, I decided that instead of actual
training, I’d do the smart thing: I’d look for people out there who were as
stupid as me.
Here
we’ll add a public service message. Now
when you google “doing a half marathon without any training” – you may stumble
across this blog, where you’ll actually find someone who did NO TRAINING AT
ALL.
Because
I kid you not, EVERY blog I found with people who claimed to do “ no training
whatsoever” said something like this:
“Oh
I did no training at all! So this was such a hard race even though I took a
break after my last marathon a month ago, which was on top of the 6 marathons I
had already done this year. But damn this half was hard. I barely made it
through running the whole way.”
I
kid you not. And the comments were great too. “Oh, I’m so glad I found this
blog, as I too have done no training! I mean my longest run was like THREE
weeks ago and that was only 10 miles!” Or
“Oh gosh I’m so worried, I’ve only managed to run 2 or 3 times a week
and never more than 5 miles.”
News
flash: that’s still called training. So again, I repeat: no training here
whatsoever. I did mention that I’m an idiot, right?
Anyway, the Tinkerbell half went about how you would expect:
I finished. My greatest accomplishment was that I
didn’t wind up in jail for homicide. Because really people, if you’re doing the
run-walk thing and have to set your watch alarm to beep LOUDLY every 30 seconds
– maybe you should just pack it in. Stephanie packed her electric can opener so that she could juice up the night before with beets, and I had my pre-race Mickey-shaped cake pop.
I
finally got my shiny medal, hobbled around a bit that day, was fine the next.
The usual. No blisters. Yay me. Lots of telling myself how stupid I was and how
I’d do at least SOME running before the Princess Half in a month.
Kone
and I went running twice. Total. However, this time I did invest in a good pair
of running shoes, finally recognizing that wherever my other good shoes were,
in some box somewhere, they’d probably stay there until after this race too. I
smartly decided to treat these new shoes as I would with race wheels, ie where
you keep them in reserve until race day, so that you feel light and speedy in
comparison to one’s clunky regular wheelset. That works with running shoes too,
right?
So
what can I say about Princess Half race day that hasn’t been said before a
million times? Getting up at 3AM for these Disney races sucks. They have too
many people out there, to the point where you wind up not drinking anything
because you don’t want to wait half an hour in line for the porta-potty. For
the Princess Half at DisneyWorld, actual time spent running through the Magic
Kingdom was ridiculously short.
My
greatest triumph came in my overcoming the corral Nazis. I was trying to find
Cori and her daughter, as somehow Disney failed to recognize my athletic
ability and running prowess and had placed me in a corral further back than
them. Wth? So off I go to look for them. I manage to get past the people
checking numbers, but they’re calling after me. “Ma’am!” Ma’am? What’s that
horseshit? I ignore them. Surely they won’t come after me, right?
A
guy comes after me.
But
somehow with my winsome pleading gaze and patented Sad Cancer Face I convince
him to let me stay and look for Cori, and gosh, when I don’t find them I’m
forced to stay in the corral, figuring I’ll find them when they catch up to me.
So the race starts, and I’’m hanging back, off to the side, looking for them,
etc. I’m concerned. After all, this is their first race, and without my expert
guidance how will they even begin to soldier on?
I
start trudging up an Alpian mountain of which there are many on the course
(some people call them something called an “overpass” but I don’t understand
that term), and I’m still fretting. I need to find Cori and Tori! I keep
scanning the crowd looking for them, to impart my coaching and wisdom to the
newbies - otherwise how will they even finish? How will they go on? How wil…
oh. That was them that just passed me. Well, I’m glad they’re managing to hide
their suffering so well, and I can only hope that they don’t crash and burn at
mile 8 and wind up in pain at the hotel the rest of the day. Still, if that’s
what it takes for them to learn these valuable lessons, so be it.
I
dash on, and note that the course is an out and back in which I can see across
the way that the first runners (there by virtue of their corral placing only,
clearly) are heading back in. I contemplate cutting the course and getting this
tomfoolery over with. Of course, that would put my time at around 58 minutes,
which might look a TINY bit suspicious. Maybe. Finely honed athlete that I
clearly am, it might not. I decide to not risk it, plus I wouldn’t want to take
any glory away from people who are actually kind of at the head of the pack –
oh sure, I could be there as well, but I might as well let the little people
have their day in the sun.
The
rest of the race: suck suck suck. Sucks. I finally finish, get my precious
medals, and go to find the bus back to the hotel – which literally has a line
at least half a mile long, snaking hither and yon. I decide I’ll wait until it
goes down a bit, because it’s pretty clear I’ll be waiting at least a few
hours.
Here
of course the hand of Disney comes down to grace us, because somehow they work
their magic to get more buses, and by the time I look up from my lawn chair
half an hour later, the line is down to people getting on the last couple of buses.
Nicely done, Disney.
In
the meantime, I’ve texted Cori to see how she and Tori are managing, the poor
dears. Maybe I can bring them something to their hotel room? They must be
spent.
Me: How are you guys holding up?
Cori: Hey, can’t talk now, we finished, got back to the
hotel to shower, composed a few haikus and odes to Mickey, went for a
refreshing swim in the pool, built a replica of the Magic Kingdom out of
toothpicks, had a bite to eat, and packed up and are on our way to the airport
– chat with you soon!
I’m
tempted to warn them about the fact that they’ll surely crash later in a heap
of agony….but again, there’s just so much I can tell people from my great
stores of wisdom, as some things people have to learn for themselves. Courage.