Yesterday was the More Women’s Half Marathon, a 13.1 mile run for women only through Central Park. I’ve run two previous half marathons this year, and was not really in the mood for this one. However, I had signed up to do it with my friend “Francesca” so didn’t want to back out. She’s from the South, where they have magazines called Guns and Gardens. Who the hell knows what she’s packing?
I hadn’t really trained appropriately, unless running 5-8 miles per week is appropriate. I doubt it is. But my last half marathon was in March, so I figured at least I probably wouldn’t die.
Imagine my delight when I woke up Sunday morning to see it absolutely pouring. Not just drizzling. Full-on dumping, windy rain. I looked longingly at my coffee pot and freshly delivered New York Times, sighed, and started tearing apart the house looking for my rain poncho.
Are you surprised to hear I have a rain poncho? I do. It’s taxi cab yellow, size extra large, and was swag from a drug company back in the days when drug companies could still bring us free lunch at the hospital.
I packed some Gu, my Garmin, and my iPod and ran out to meet Francesca in a cab. We got out at 66th and Central Park West right near the now-defunct Tavern on the Green and were immediately soaked. I admired all the creative trash bag couture and was really surprised that so many women had come out for the race. Click here to see pictures.
The race started at 8am, and after a while I didn’t really notice the rain. I actually started to get hot around mile 4, so stopped to pull off the hideous poncho. I then spent the next two miles worrying about whether my Garmin or iPod could possibly electrocute me.
At about mile 7 I started to really lose my motivation and hit the wall. Francesca went on ahead and I cut my pace by a minute or so. Totally lazy really. I started looking around at the other women and ignored my pace watch. I saw some great shirts: “Estrogen Rocks”, “Run Like a Girl”, and “Yeah, I Have Boobs” were my three favorites. I wish I had boobs.
Around mile 10, instead of veering out of the park at the west 100th street exit and running to the comfort of my bath tub, I suddenly got my act together. Despite the fact that I lost the sound in my left headphone, I was running with two inch puddles in my shoes, and I was certain my mascara was oozing down my face, I RAN . Eminem and Lady Gaga got me through the last three miles.
A very gracious cab driver allowed my dripping, muddy, limping self to get into his cab and I was delivered safely back to my apartment where I treated myself to some coffee, a mint Milano cookie, and a two hour nap.