The long-feared half marathon is over.
I ran. I survived. I am here to tell the tale.
The Marine Corps Half Marathon is the hardest race I've ever run, so the adage about getting there being half the fun was particularly true in this case.
On Saturday, my mom, dad, and I packed up my parents' dark red minivan and headed to Fredericksburg, Virginia. We had a lovely overnight trip planned, concluding with my run on Sunday morning and a visit to the National Museum of the Marine Corps for lunch.
It was a great trip.
As my parents headed to Southampton to pick me up, my mom sent me a text. She and my dad, among other errands, were going to pick up some beer to have on hand for Saturday evening. Did I have any requests?
Knowing that my dad and I have a mutual fondness for Sam Adams, I requested one of their brews, then went about my business while I waited for my parents to arrive.
I'd just like to say here that I have often been accused, by my mom, of being an alcoholic. Now, I never get drunk. I never drink at what would be considered irresponsible times - school pick-up, say, or early morning. I won't even drink on nights Husband is on 24 hour in-house call. Who wants to be the mom that is home alone, has alcohol on her breath, and has a kid that falls down the steps/develops a 105 fever/ gets kidnapped? Not me.
No, I'm not in any way an alcoholic. The accusation stems from the fact that I have strong preferences when it comes to my alcohol consumption. But I am also that way about my Starbucks, chocolate, even pizza. I'm a control freak. Control freaks don't ingest just anything. It's why we don't get food poisoning.
And, just to illustrate my point, I'd like to say that I did not have a drop of alcohol until I sat down to Game of Thrones Sunday night in my own rec room with Husband. My parents, on the other hand, had drinks with dinner Saturday, drinks with lunch Sunday, and intended to have drinks in the hotel room Saturday night. I've also, in the course of my life, had to explain to my mom twice - twice - that just because you are not the one driving doesn't mean you can have an open container of alcohol in the car.
Anyway.
As I loaded my luggage into the minivan, my mom asked me if I had the Sam Adams. If I had the Sam Adams. My parents had picked up some Miller Lite (gross), but apparently I had been designated to procure the Sam Adams. How I'm supposed to divine that from a text that asked for my beer request, I don't know. Fortunately, the current Game of Thrones beer is an iteration right up my dad's alley. We threw that into the cooler and piled into the car.
I drove, thanks to my wicked motion sickness. As I adjusted the mirrors, the passenger side rear view popped out of it's mooring. My dad wedged it back in and gave me stern instructions not to adjust that mirror again. Which was OK because I was spending the next 36 hours mostly on highways and everyone knows that you don't really need your passenger side rear view for highway driving.
But my mom, from her position in the back seat, felt the mirror just wasn't anchored securely enough. My mom hasn't gotten to this point in her life - high school degree to master's degree with three kids, surviving a 50% chance of mortality from septic shock - by sitting quietly. She absolutely said something. Which led to my dad fixing the mirror again. Which led to the mirror failing to lock into it's berth. Which led to me turning the car around just two houses away from my own to fetch duct tape.
My dad is Lutheran, but he is a devout follower of duct tape. In my lifetime, I have seen my dad use duct tape for everything from bandaging loose fingernails to hemming pants. If there's nothing Tom Cruise can't do in a race car, there's nothing my dad can't do with duct tape.
So yes, the mirror was duct taped in place, giving me a stunning view of the minivan's passenger side tires.
Fortunately, once I was comfortably going 65 MPH (OK, 80) on the Blue Route, my mom directed me to a button near the steering column that turns on a camera. This camera shows the driver everything and then some that the driver would normally see with the rear view mirror. Which is exactly what every driver is looking for five seconds after they've merged onto a major interstate.
| I mean, who doesn't bring a ginormous Tupperware of fruit salad on a road trip? |
Sunday morning dawned cool but sunny. The Marines make you run at 7 AM, unlike most runs that start at 9 AM. So at 4:45 I slipped out of the hotel room to grab some breakfast in the lobby. I chatted with a fellow runner and a drunk wedding party. Then my dad chauffeured me to the race.
| No lie. That wedding party was ripped. We were equally hurting come 11 AM Sunday. |
The start line was more than a mile off from the closest point my dad could drop me. I bid him good-bye (and possibly farewell - I was under no illusion that I would survive to mile 13) and began my trek to the start line. Along the way I met two fellow runners, nice guys who conversed with me as we walked.
| Nothing hotter than a 40-something girl whose dad used to be a man in uniform in an organization notorious for being tough, am I right? |
When the race was (mercifully) over, my parents and I drove to the Starbucks located in the same complex as the race. As I ordered my (very specific) drink, whom do I see at the end of the bar but my race compatriots that accompanied me to the start. I waved.
"Who's that?" whispered my mom.
I explained.
"Ooh. They're leaning back. Looking at you. Quick. Flash your wedding ring. Let them know you're married."
Now, two things I'd like to say about my mom here. One, my mom operates from the premise that I am the most beautiful woman on the planet. And as such, anything with a penis that interacts with me does so with the hope of applying said penis to my person.
Second, my mom is an awful wingman. I mean, criminally bad. Once, when I was a teenager, we were staying overnight in Virginia while en route from North Carolina to Pennsylvania. My dad had left ahead of us in order to go back to work to, well, pay for us to stay a few extra days in NC. I, being the lovely daughter that I am, decided the best way to thank my dad was to attempt to defile some random boy I met at our hotel.
As I talked with said boy, my mom appeared out of nowhere and whispered for me to come to her. As if that weren't bad enough, she then told me that I was talking too much, that I was going to run this boy off with my verbosity. She then proceeded to station herself at the railing outside of our room, directly above me and my prey. Ugh.
And once, when Husband was New Boyfriend, I left him alone with my mom for about 15 minutes. In that timespan, my mom had filled New Boyfriend in on every. Single. Relationship. I'd ever had. Ever.
But back to Starbucks. And a word about me. Husband, as I have said, is my soulmate. He puts the buck in my star, if you get my drift. But when you're 42 and no stranger to childbirth, stress incontinence, and gravity, it's pretty flattering when, of 3500 females, two guys laser in on you. Also, unlike most runs, the Marine Corps is very much about unity. We were all in it together.
So my boys headed over to talk with me, and as we discussed the race, my mom interjected that my dad, a real-deal Marine, was right in the car and did they want to meet him?
I mean, is she trying to protect my marriage or destroy it?
I dissuaded that from happening, said my good-byes, collected my mom and our beverages, and headed to the minivan. As we loaded into the car, my mom began to flutter about like a lost baby bird.
"Ooh, those boys are coming over. They're coming over! They're after you! They don't care that you're married!"
Never mind that she had invited them to meet my dad, which they did. After they took their leave of us, my mom gushed about how very "into" me they obviously were, and how one was cuter than the other, how they just didn't care that I am otherwise engaged, and wasn't my father concerned about any of this?
Way to play it cool.
And so the getting home was part of the fun, too. My dad, the Marine with the duct taped mirror, and my mom, narrowly alive for this moment, and me, happy to be with them. Lucky to be with them. Lousy wingman and all.
The Binge
In honor of the final episode of Banshee (Friday on Cinemax), I am going to list the best binge-able series - binge-able because their run (like mine) is complete. Read my review of Banshee here, which doesn't really do it justice. If you're going to watch, scooch on over to the website and watch Banshee Origins, too.
Burn Notice. CIA spy Michael gets "burned" - fired by the CIA. No money, no ID, and stranded in his hometown Miami, Michael now struggles with what to do next. Part MacGyver, part spy drama, part buddy comedy, Burn Notice has a great recurring cast, one of the best TV endings ever, and Sharon Gless. Sharon Gless! Netflix, USA On Demand, Amazon.
Dexter. I mean, how many times do I have to talk about Dexter with you people? Another Miami-set story, Dexter follows serial-killer-with-a-conscience Dexter Morgan. Dexter is a blood-splatter analyst with the Miami police AND a serial killer with his own brand of justice. With just the right amount of black comedy, Dexter is incredibly compelling. Buckle up for season 4! I binged that season in about 2 days. Netflix, Showtime On Demand, Amazon.
Justified. Based on Elmore Leonard's short story Fire In The Hole, Justified follows Raylan Givens, a federal marshal forced to patrol his hometown in Kentucky. Great acting, great story lines, but you could just put it on "mute" and watch Timothy Olyphant. Amazon. (The short story is good, too).
Homicide: Life on the Street. Read my review here, and yes, you can still borrow my DVDs.
Mad Men. I spent one third of this binge wondering what Don Draper would do next, one third loving the relationship between Don Draper and Peggy Olsen, and one third being nostalgic for my grandmother's house. I'm not sure how I made it through the binge without a cigarette and a drink, but I did. I don't recommend you do the same. Netflix, Amazon
Medium. Patricia Arquette plays Allison DuBois, a real life Arizona medium. Her abilities allow her to help the DA's office solve crimes, but it's never that easy. A season 3 arc with Jason Priestley and Neve Campbell is happy-time for any 90's girl. Amazon, Netflix.
