St. Paddy's Day 1/2 Marathon

I made plans to test my fitness in a 1/2 marathon a month out from Boston. There was one in Vancouver I liked, the Sammamish 1/2, which promised a pancake course, or the Budlight St. Paddy's Day 1/2 in Tacoma - the winner. The medals were rad, the course "fast" and it asked me to commit a step further in distance & effort. Ber & LB were on board; we bought clover socks; planned a girls weekend: LB & I for the 1/2, Ber for the 10k, drinks, sunshine, sleepover in Seattle, Sunday morning run, support Kristen in the Paddy's 3.5 mile race in Seattle after. Ber & LB had an easy time signing up. I, on the other hand, had a shit of a time.

ENTRY BS (see below to skip rant)

I was directed to send my bio to one part of the organization, never heard back, sent an email inquiring, never heard back, asked a different contact if they had heard anything, never heard back, called a contact, was told I'd be called back immediately, never got called back, was finally emailed; was asked for my bio again, sent my bio with a request to hear back before the prices increased, was replied to after the prices increased with an email saying I was not fast enough to qualify for elite. Meanwhile both my buds are in easy, free & under elite status. Ber gave me a honcho contact, so I emailed him, forwarding all the emails to explicate my experience, never heard back. She emails him via Facebook & he responds telling her that I should email him again. At this point I'm like, "Duhh fuck?" I email him, "Hey bud, I'm writing to you again as suggested by so-and-so, if you can get me in as elite, that would be great, if not no worries, please let me know by such-and-such as I will be signing up before registration closes."

I get a response the day after I sign up asking for my bio again. "I've sent that 2 times - I feel as if I've been coerced into paying the highest price for this race by the lack of communication via email. I'm truly unhappy about this..." or something of the sort. Then guy forwards this email to the woman I was having such trouble nailing down before, and I get a response from her within minutes saying she was sorry "I felt that way" and "...that there were many people asking for elite entries" that she had to cater to, making quick responses difficult. It was really cool to get an email so quickly then, and pretty cool to get the underhanded sorry-not-sorry. I think we're definitely in that age of sorry-not-sorry.

Through my discomfort in the lack of communication with this organization I emailed the Sammamish 1/2 (sold out), asking them if I could be put on a waiting list/help pace. They declined; everything was booked up, even the waiting list. They offered to put me on the list as an alternate pacer. All of this communication was happening in the matter of hours. They were really trying to make my experience worthwhile, even in not being able to give me what I asked for. I told them I'd be grateful to be on that list, and gave them my time. They responded with, "I didn't know you were that fast - we'll sneak you into the elite category, we reserve spots there." Then I get another email right away with my elite code & encouragement. It felt good, the exact opposite of the customer service I was experiencing via Tacoma. I sat on it a few days; I was really tortured (dramatic), because I had this political dilemma of not wanting to support an organization that made me feel like shit (my therapist would say, "They didn't make you feel like shit, you make yourself feel...") and wanting to put my energy and legs into something I felt genuinely good about - i.e. Sammamish. It was a toss between doing what I felt was right and doing what I set out to do.

I declined Sammamish & purchased the then costly entry to the St. Paddy's Day 1/2. Ber & co. encouraged the decision with charged & empowering, "Just win it." But I felt guilty supporting the race. I don't usually find myself in this situation. I'm generally neutral, a people-pleaser, for lack of a more romantic term. To win or get prize money or to be recognized as elite means nothing to me. "It's the principal" is what he said to me as I confessed all the mixed emotions. Yes, it damn well is.

I tried to look at all of this from another angle: is there something I could have done differently? Was I responsible for miscommunication? Was I out of place for asking for elite status? Did I offer enough time for response, or was I impatient? No matter how I look at it, I feel the situation was mishandled on their end in many ways. The whole thing didn't just roll off my shoulders - I'm pissed. I tried to take control of this madness by purchasing some yellow shorts, hot-glue-gunning a 4-leaf clover merkin-style on the front, but still, the only thing I could do to feel better was to get the run out of the way & to cease support of the organization.

RACE REPORT

It was dark when we left LB's apartment, grabbed coffees & headed to Tacompton. We picked up our bibs, went on a warmup, peeing like dogs on bushes & grass patches. De-robed at the trunk of of the car, skipped to the start line, armed in music, sweatbands, high socks, 4-leaf clover crotch gold shorts. There were husbands in hats & wives in short plaid skirts, dogs with coats, the holiday-fanatics. The horn blew & we began a mile descent which backtracked and re-descended, then out for 8-9 miles before heading back the way we had come. Starting on a downhill was good mental prep for Beantown; reigning it in (though we didn't), finding another gear halfway through, after you think the hillwork is over (it wasn't). It wasn't much of a footrace, it seemed, for all categories, though the website & elite standards would insinuate otherwise. From the start, placement was pretty set.

After the turnaround we hit crowds of 5k, 10k, & 1/2 marathon runners. There was only 1 lane reserved on the road for all racers coming & going, thus, those whose shorter turnarounds from the other events had their backs turned against the first wave of finishers from the 1/2 marathon. I had a damn good cyclist helping try to steer people to the side so I could come up on their left shoulder, but oftentimes it was messy; I stepped outside the center lane to keep my stride, but cops would go by yelling from speakerphones to stay inside the lines. Eventually the cyclist got pretty peeved, yelling at people, taking the brunt of the stress for me. It was not the most seamless of races, but I wasn't necessarily frustrated; just in that there was a likelihood that I could have broken the '21 barrier if it had been a little better organized.

The group of people this race attracted were really beautiful. Everyone cheered for one another, were excited to see women in the front, took time from their own individual concerns to make this known.

From Left: Ber, LB

I wanted to remain consistent. If I made the mistake of starting out too fast, I wanted to hold onto that pace as long as possible to train for repercussions. I had music which made it less lonely & the view of water was softening my misconceptions of Tacoma a bit. The decline we had so effortlessly descended in the beginning, became a long hill climb to the finish. I tried to keep myself in check, maintaining stride, but not all-out finishing, so that I could recover more quickly, really use this event as a tune-up for Boston. This did not stop me from dry-heaving at the finish line. Finishing on a hill is pretty awesome, no matter what. It was great mental strengthening. Ber was waiting at the finish line, having finished her 10k pr a while before, placing 3rd in the field. LB hauled in, and the three of us breathlessly talked about the race, put on our warmups & cooled down for a few miles. Got my money back, handed to me by the woman who said, "Those are good times! But unfortunately not fast enough to be considered elite." The three of us got the coffees we had been dreaming about during the race, grabbed bulk salad bar fixings from Whole Foods & headed back to LB's apartment to have lunch.Our phones blew up from our teammates back home, congratulating us, telling us of their own adventures in pats day racing. I felt a lot of love.

The Tasting Room, Post Alley

Took a shower together, had a pillow fight, put our clothes back on, worked out those tight underbutt hammies; Mck came over & we headed to Pike's Place market. Started off with wine tasting at the Tasting Room in Post Alley, with flights of cabernet sauv. v. syrah, then a carafe of malbec, a cheese platter with goat & bleu, nuts, long slightly-sweet crackers. Everyone was festively green, enjoying the holiday early, with beer gardens & tents set up outside pubs. Went to the darkly lit Alibi Room for tapas & drinks: white bean hummus & veggies, honey-drizzled fuji apples & brie with foccacia, bruschetta & balsamic reduction, truffle tre fungi pizza (must have), and spinach, mushroom & feta pizza. Savored ipa, then a blueberry lemonade & vodka concoction as influenced by LB. Afterwards, we bought candies & cocktail mixin's to take back to LB's, played cards, caught up on life. I passed out on the floor, breathing heavy, fell asleep with Ber in our sexy guest bedroom. In the middle of the night, she stirred awake & got out of bed. I woke, "You okay?" There was no reason she wouldn't be, but this sticks out to me because I think it was relationship-courtney talking. It really came from a place of being in bed with a lover - every move of theirs is somehow connected to your own; simply, being connected; something that really brought me back to how I was.

From Left: cmo, Mck, Ber, LB

Ber & I woke from our lover's bed early, the rain heavy outside. Put our running gear on, and headed to the start of the St. Pats 3.5 mile Dash to support our teammate, Kristen. Girl won (19:13/5:29 avg), looked & felt strong, got some prize $; the three of us grabbing swag bags with shirts, hats, chips, bars, coconut water, movie passes, coffee.The weekend proved quite successful running-wise & much needed friend-wise. Les be honest, I have an amazing group of fast, thoughtful, and loving friends.