Running Late

Sometimes Mother Nature conspires against  you, and sometimes you just screw things up all by yourself.

Mental note: do not share a pitcher of PBR the night before a race. Maybe it's just me, but carbo-loading with beer (though delicious and fun) inevitably means I will have to carbo un-load in the morning.

On this particular morning, I was assigned a 16 mile run. I'd already registered for the Earthday 10k, so I thought I'd be clever and combine the runs by parking five miles from the starting line--compelling me to finish all 16 miles or hitchhike home. I scouted Google maps and consulted a Portland expert to find a likely spot for my car. I set out for Lake Oswego, having taken care of business ;) before I left bright and early.

I got to the school parking lot and started getting my gear ready. I was wearing a hydration pack without the bladder so that I would have a place to carry my dry clothes, gels, and the inevitable race swag. I carried my Nuun electrolyte drink in a hand-held water bottle and I'd already swiped my important bits with Body Glide. The only thing I didn't have were my carefully written, turn-by-turn directions. Apparently, they had somehow missed the transition from kitchen table gear pile to tightly packed bag.

Bitchcakes! I am so directionally challenged, I practically qualify for ADA status. I knew the general direction I was supposed to be heading, but decided to bring along some insurance in the form of my Garmin Nuvi, a navigational device for cars (not, as it turns out, runners).

This little hiccup in my plan set me behind somewhat, and I would have to run sub 10-minute miles to get to the race on time. The second and bigger hiccup arrived in the form of G.I. distress about a mile into the run. Cheap beer, like cheap hookers may offer instant gratification, but tends to have regrettable consequences. If Google ever asks me how I like their walking map beta, I'm going to tell them that they need to add public restrooms to the list of menu items that can be incorporated into the route. The particular path I was on was full of industrial parks, significantly lacking in public restrooms; and sparse brush, significantly lacking in both camouflage and make-shift toilet-paper options. I'm sure my chiropractor would be appalled at the biomechanics of my gait: trying to run with a tightly clinched ass and a rigid, mincing stride was probably not doing my joints any favors. Things were not looking good for an on-time arrival.

At last, like an oasis in the desert, I saw a gas station up ahead, approximately .2 miles from the race, where tent peaks were sprawled across the parking lot like a Bedouin camp. I ran into the station and made a bee line for the restroom... which was locked. I practically lapped the inside of the convenience store before I found the clerk crouched down in the chip aisle restocking the Funions. I asked her for the key, and she informed me that someone was already in there, so I stalked back to the bathroom door and crossed my arms (and my legs) to wait... and wait... and wait... Every time I heard the paper towel dispenser thump,  I would get my hopes up that this person would soon be vacating the premises I so desperately wanted to occupy, but that door never did open, and time was ticking. It was about five minutes before the start of the race when I decided to give up on the obsessive-compulsive hand-washer in the gas station john and try my luck at the event port-a-potties.

This turned out to be almost as bad of a decision as drinking beer the night before. There were only four toilets for all 200+ participants and however many spectators and volunteers. Not four banks of toilets--four toilets, TOTAL. A fifth grader could have told the organizers that this was a serious oversight. But, having no choice, I joined the line of people snaked in front of the honey buckets.

Over the loudspeaker, I heard them announce that the 10k would start about ten minutes late. "Thank goodness for small favors" I thought, as I hopped from foot to foot. Then they announced the imminent start time....and then the gun went off. Without me. Because surely, anyone who orders only four johns for more than 300 people did not consider for a moment the need for toilets on the course. I had no choice. I continued to wait in line. and wait. and wait.

Finally, much relieved, I trotted over to the start line to make sure I could start with the 5k'ers. Not so, they said. I would have to start immediately for my chip to work properly. The head honcho hopped on his walkie talkie and announced that there was some chick who was in the bathroom for a really long time ("long line, I said long line!") and still wanted to do the 10k. So, traffic was stopped and I ran off down a completely empty course, crossing my fingers that I would make the right turns.

I didn't see a soul for the first mile. Convinced that I had gotten off track, I had just decided to run three miles and turn around so that I could at least make my training goal when I finally saw a little yellow sign marked "runners." About a half mile later, I passed a race volunteer, who despite the extra perky, "way to go!" couldn't quite disguise her look of utter confusion over whether I was an elite 5k runner or just a really fucking slow 10k runner. I passed some walkers at mile two, and despite having over a ten minute delay on my start time, managed to catch up with some actual runners at about mile three and a half.

I did finish the race and set a new personal record of 58:43, though I did not stick around to partake of the free beer (consider that lesson learned).