I landed in my favorite city on a day that resembled a postcard that reads "Wish you were here". 70 and sunny welcomed me and I was on my way to wait in the unnecessarily long line at the car rental place... I guess that's what I get for reserving at "Dollar Rental". Lucky for me, there was a family with 6 adorable, little blond girls that resembled the Olsen Twins (pre- eating disorder phase) in line right behind me. I recall one named Summer and another Savannah and I just kept praying they weren't following in the Duggar Family's 19 Kids and Counting footsteps. Poor children. Anyways, I finally made it to the counter to pick up my "economy car" I had put on reserve. I couldn't wait to see the rims on the 4 wheels of my: Chevy Aveo.
The one good thing about my little Aveo was that it did suit my need to sit dangerously close to the steering wheel. Anyone who's ever driven with me can attest to the fact that if I ever get into an accident, I'm sooo totally dunzo, like Kristin Cavallari's car (see: Laguna Beach, season 1) due to the fact that I find it illogically necessary to sit about 6 inches from the wheel. It's the perfect car for little people. And I don't mean midgets, I mean just small, compact people. But other than that, it sucks. And I don't know how anyone drives Smart cars, because cars that small just make me feel stupid. Har har har. This was by far the smallest car I had been in since cruising the burbs in Caitlin's Prius, which we nicknamed the "Sex Kitten" in high school (for no logical reason, of course.) But, the Aveo would serve me well for my 3-day getaway to Cali and off to the expo I putted.
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| Check out my rims for the weekend |
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| Welcome to Paradise |
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| OCEAN |
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| I could get used to this |
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| Awkwarding at the expo |
The Expo for this Rock 'N Roll Marathon was the largest by far this year. Sponsored by Brooks, I was in merchandise paradise. I dicked around there for a while, enjoyed the city and met up with my girl Madelaine Hahn, who I hadn't seen since I pomp & circumstanced in black & gold a year ago. Madelaine was hilarious navigating through the expo- like a little lost pup. At this point, I feel a bit like an "expo pro" (which really is nothing of which to be proud) and knew where all the hot spots were- aka the vendors with free food and shit.
Post expo, I miraculously found my midget car wanna-be in the lot and cruised to my hosts in Solana Beach. Solana Beach is about 20 minutes north of San Diego. But really, it's just 20 minutes of unbelievable views. After finding a radio station that wasn't in spanish (which was relatively challenging to do, but an imperative task, seeing that the extent of my espagnol includes only 'mas cervesas' and 'donde esta el bano?'), my windows were rolled down, with music blasting and I was dreaming Californication.
I pulled up to Maureen and Richie's beach abode and made my way to the music festival to meet up with them...and by meet up with, I mean, meet the people I'd be living with for the long weekend for the first time. Yes, that's correct, I had never meet my hosts before. So how did I end up staying with them? Well, it just so happens Bob went to grade school with Maureen and when my stupidity surfaced again postponing my hotel booking, Bob connected with his long lost friend. Alas, Maureen being the awesome human being she is (which will be explained further in the post) opened her home to me no questions asked. So back to Solana Beach: As a tourist, I had no idea where I was walking to, but luckily music is loud and much like a dog following a smell, I trailed the sound (I can't imagine how Helen Keller ever got around.)
Meet my hosts: Maureen and Richie. They were AWESOME; quite possibly two of the coolest people I've ever met- and I'd consider myself fairly well-versed in 'coolness' (when you extract the two years I wore a fanny pack and sold books door-to-door, of course.) Maureen was so welcoming and excited to see me- as if I was one of her own kin. We enjoyed the music festival which was about 200 feet from the ocean, surrounded by farmer's market-like vendors, a beer garden and local bands. Maureen was a dancing machine posting up front and center stage and with Richie sporting a Napolean Dynamite tee, I knew I'd get along with them just superbly.
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| My AWESOME hosts for the weekend! |
I ended up being the party pooper, as George Banks would coin, on Saturday night. While Maureen wanted to continue getting her groove on at the festival, my 3:30 wake-up call haunted me like Jaws, so I called it a night. Yes, I forgot to mention that when registering for this race, I failed to realize the 6:15AM start time. I also failed to realize that if driving, you had to park at the airport authority lot to be shuttled to the course and had to arrive at the lot between 4-5:30AM. So a few short hours later, my alarm sounded and I was on the road by 4AM.
The Aveo and I cruised smoothly along I-5 for 15 minutes until the Washington exit neared. The Washington exit was the exit that all 33,000 runners in their respective cars were all trying to funnel toward. At once. Come 4:45, I was still stopped in the standstill traffic. It was when I started seeing the runners abandon their drivers and cars and walk along the highway to get to the exit that I knew I needed to pull a Fievel Goes West and go on a little adventure. Moving 10 feet further, the car in front of me took a small exit so, in a monkey-see, monkey-do fashion, I followed. As I took the turn, I read a sign labeled "No race parking access". Perfect. Genius. I continued to follow the car ahead seeing that I was clueless and in bufu. We ended up U-turning in a Marine Corps base, so with a quick salute, I drove right back outta there seeing that 'Merica wasn't my number one priority at that moment. A few side streets later, we arrived at the destination lot. The sign clearly lied like a rude teenager and I wish I could've high-fived the local in front of me who paved the way.
A short shuttle ride later, I arrived at the course around 5:30, with plenty of time to spare. I did my port-a-potty thang and made my way to gear check. This was the first race this year that I didn't have anyone to hold my goods while I raced. From there, I found my corral- #6 of 42 at the start line. 42 corrals. 33,000+ racers. Holy balls. The San Diego sun was already above head when the gun went off. As I neared the start, the announcer mentioned that Alli and Roberto from last season's The Bachelorette were at the start line to cheer us on. I anxiously looked around to see my D-class celebs and realized that moment encompassed two components that take up the majority of my free time: running & trashy reality TV. I didn't see the prime time lovebirds, but I'm sure they were cheering for me as hard as I cheered for Alli to pick Chris L instead of Roberto.
I was trotting along again, for this race #5. I wasn't entirely mentally "in it"...and I really didn't care. I had enjoyed the minimal stress my Cleveland race caused me and thus decided to just enjoy this one as well. In fact, my dedication to this race really lacked. This could be exemplified in the 5 inch wedges I sported the day before the race for 8 hours and my training that has plateaued. (Minus the speedy 15 miler I did the Sunday before in a torrential downpour that resembled a wet dog version of Baywatch). However, my heart has been feeling much better and I haven't collapsed anytime recently so all systems were a "go". So yes, I know I should be pushing myself harder to get a faster time, but I still have 8 more races and I'd rather just enjoy this journey. Along the course, I witnessed some unusually interesting things. The first and weirdest had to be the caveman running. (Apparently running is so easy, a caveman can do it! ...I'll cool it with the jokes). But seriously, this guy was a pre-historic man, completely naked with only a canvas butt-flap. His thick, black hair was longer than mine and untied; he wore no shoes and instead had his time chip looped around a twine anklet. He received more praise than a prize poodle from other runners. I may have given him a thumbs up if his white, hairy man thigh hadn't starred at me. Man thighs gross me out so much. If I was Jane, I would've most def. not been interested in this modern day Tarzan. The next interesting thing I saw was a group of Elvis look-alikes. Now, every race seems to have at least one of these Graceland wannabes, but this was an entire group and I just so happened to see them as we passed one of the rock band mile markers singing "Jailhouse Rock".
Most of the race took place on highway roads, which is def. not my fav. However, Highway 163 (I think that's what it's called) was beautifully decorated with greens and florals as I trotted along. If there was any question whether my ass exists or not, I can assure you it does because mine burned as I took the ramps and hills with great fervor. The course even veered toward the nationally noticed San Diego Zoo. I knew this because 1. the course description told me so and 2. because at one point, the aroma of the breeze made me look around to see if I was running through the monkey house. Yes, it smelled like Rafiki's ass. Highways and ramps, sceneries and shops, I finished the course 1:49:31 later. At approximately 1:49:33, I blew chunks everywhere again. This time I believe it was due to being a little water-logged, as I could hear the liquid swishing in my belly like the oceanic waves not far from me. (I drank more water during this race, preparing for the heat...although, it really wasn't too roasty.) Slower than normal, I wasn't thrilled...but I wasn't disappointed. I was content and happy that I enjoyed the California course. I met some rando runners and made temporary friends and called Bob & Mary E to let them know I made it out alive and wasn't currently laying in the hospital.
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| Music Festival |
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| Race #5 complete! |
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| Finish Line |
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| Making random runner friends |
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| Beach time |
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| Wild Child |
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| The perfect way to end my weekend: Nathan's hot dog & TCBY |
The rest of the weekend included sushi dining, touring Maureen's garden that flourished just about every vegetable imaginable, relaxing and reading by the pool. The time came to bid adieu to my favorite hosts and return my beloved Aveo to catch my flight home on Monday afternoon. I ended the weekend with a Nathan's hot dog and TCBY in true fatass form at the airport. Though I didn't want to leave, I know I'll be back to San Diego. I could honestly see myself living there, as long as it's not mandatory to get some sort of plastic surgery after the age of 40 (which I got the vibe it is against the law to have saggy, pale skin there). San Diego just won't know what hit it when I return in my glowing Irish skin and real buttox assets.
With race 5 down, I'm currently scrambling to plan my July race. I did some race rearranging to make sure I could make it to Mizzou's 100th Homecoming in October, which made me change my October race to Denver, which made me cancel Colorado Springs for July. Which makes me raceless...which is almost as bad as being pantless. So I'll be sure to post before my July race to let you know where I'll be headed.
Signing off to figure out my race for July...which is next week. Shiiiiiit. Byeeeee.
