Sorry About Your Car, Bro


Since I’ve been down and out for the past week (great timing, seeing that my half marathon is in two days), this post is slightly delayed. On Monday, I ran the Tufts 10K for Women, with 5,000 other femmes in Boston. When I woke up Monday morning, I was not feeling all that swell. I figured that I’m a tough broad, and I could power through. I was really looking forward to this race, and have always wanted to participate since I moved to Boston, but I always had to work on Columbus Day (scientists know better than to honor that d*ckhead who almost decimated an entire indigenous population of people). I finally signed up for the race, took the day off and, despite my misgivings, I sucked it up and headed toward Boston Common.


It was pretty incredible and humbling to stand at the starting line with over 5,000 other women – this race is really a celebration of women in the sport of running. What an awesome experience!


Those thoughts were quickly replaced by woozy reluctance to start running when the airhorn sounded. My first splits were pretty solid: 8:09/8:21…then I really started to not feel well. I stopped and walked at two of the early water stations (that is basically me giving up – my one solid rule in racing is to NEVER walk, you’re always faster even if you are at the slowest and most pathetic jogging pace) and really had to fight the voice in my head that said, “give up!”. I made it all the way until mile 4.5 when body won over mind. I felt really sick, and mid run, as I was slowing to pull off the road and out of the way of the other runners, my stomach rejected the most recent influx of water – all over someone’s white Range Rover on Comm Ave (sorryyyyy!!!). I would love to say that I felt a lot better after that, but I did not. I just tried to shut down the woozy/quit-y/wanting to die thoughts pressing at the edge of my focus (breathe in, out, foot up, down) and pushed myself to run all the way through to the finish (those last few miles = one of the inner circles of hell). I walked straight through the finish line corral, grabbed water, a banana, snacks, straight onto the T, and didn’t stop until I got home. On my ride home, I got my finish time: 56:57 min, with an average pace of 9:11 min/mile (not even close to my 10K PR of 52:40 and average pace of 8:29 min/mile). First thought: UGHHHHHHhhhhhh. Second thought: Well, at least I finished!


Once home, I was burning up. I dug my trusty thermometer out. 100.7 = yikes (you can ask my mom, she will tell you that if I get a fever, it is never high, so being above 100 is some serious shiz). Whoops. Sweating out all of that water during the 10K is probably the opposite of what you want to do when you are running a temperature. I dumped salt in my hand, licked it (eff those Nuun tablets, sometimes you just gotta go for the Morton Iodized), and chugged a liter of water.

Probably my worst race experience to date. But I effing finished!!!!!!

I spent the rest of the week dragging my carcass to and from work for half days running a low fever, all while trying to rest anytime I was home (just in case you need to know, Reign is a really good show to half-watch/half-sleep through). Yesterday, I was finally fever-less and ran for the first time since the race, and man oh man – my confidence for this half marathon is at an all time low. I’ll take any and all suggestions/good vibes/race tips/prayers/thoughts/moon dances/telegrams/internet hugs. I know that as the High Priestess of Booyah, I am normally overflowing with the good vibes/Pollyanna positive outlook but I am really disappointed in myself for not resting or listening to my body, and being put totally down and out this entire week, and entering into a race weekend at such a low confidence level. So there’s your life lesson: listen to your body! This is a lesson I seem to face again and again, and continue to not absorb or yield to, as I am unwilling to rest and stubborn as …something that rhymes with duck.

As frustrated as I am, and want to throw a 4 year old level temper tantrum in response to the hand I’ve been dealt here (after training my ass off for months), I am in fact an adult, so I will take a deep breath and tell myself that this is when you really find out what you’re made of. When you face a challenge, you can either throw your hands up in the air in exasperation and give up, or you can grit your teeth and tell yourself that you’re going to do the best you possibly can do, because just finishing a half marathon is a huge accomplishment. So there we go.

I hope all of you have had a great week, and I’ve made some pretty delicious things in the past week I can’t wait to share with you next week!

With warmth,


6 thoughts on “Sorry About Your Car, Bro

  1. It’s so frustrating when you’ve trained hard and know you could have done better but you finished and that’s miles (literally…) better than having not done a race at all. You kicked ass. Booyah!


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