I chose this race for a very limited amount of random reasons. 1. I had never been...or heard of, Portland, MI. So the Curious George in me said sure why not... and curiosity only killed the cat, and I'm no feline. 2. The flight to Portland, OR and the remainder of the west coast races (where I wanted to run) was over $500... my 2 tanks of gas to Portland, MI were $40. I obviously had a premonition of the stock market crash that was to come. 3. It was the town's Relay for Life, so in all honesty, it was a great cause (and it allowed me to take a stroll down memory lane to high school when my group of friends religiously participated dressing up as football players to "tackle cancer" and sported a rainbow of fruit flavors as we were "Lifesavers" another year. I was pineapple. That's the best flavor, obviously.) So that's how I ended up spending my last weekend of July in a town with a population of 3,500...cows included.
Because it was only a 4 hour drive to the middle of nowhere, Mary E and I didn't have to hit the road quite as early as usual on Saturday. So Friday night, I used my mad sales skillz I learned from selling books-door-to-door to convince Bob to let mom & I take the Miata convertible for the projected perfect-weathered weekend. And by sales skillz, I mean I flashed my beaver teeth, batted my mascaraed eyelashes and conveniently was the last child to be born in my immediate family to make Big Bobby cave into passing the keys to his baby. The "baby" in this case, is not me, but rather his car. My mom and I came to the conclusion on the drive to Portland that my dad has 3 "things" he refers to as baby, listed most important to uh, least important for lack of a better rating scale: 1. Honey (the dog) 2. his Miata 3. my mom. Poor Mary E, 30 years of marriage and you get the shaft behind the k-9 and style bars. It's okay, you're #1 on my list (but I don't refer to you as "baby"). I will admit that my dad's farewell to me resembled the current Subaru commercials, where the father is giving all the safety advice to the striped-shirt little girl in the driver's seat; it was quite sentimental, especially when Bob ends his fatherly advice with "and don't break my car". So as Mary E and I pulled away Saturday morning around 8:30, the glisten in Bob's eye wasn't because he'd miss us, but rather because he feared the wind would screw up his ride's recent wax job.
The doppler was right: perfect weather. Mary E and I cruised with the top down all the way through Indiana and up to Michigan. I did all the driving as mom held onto her dear Mizzou baseball cap while trying to text and update her Facebook and earning herself a really sexy seatbelt tan by the time we neared our questionable destination. You know those hidden wine country towns tucked behind rows of shrubbery along the highway that you barely notice they even exist? The ones that you see the "welcome to" and "you are now leaving" signs in the same stretch of road? The ones that you pass the gas exit intentionally even when you're running on "E" because you don't know when the hidden meth lab there is going to explode? Welcome to Portland, MI. (Or so that would be the judgment made from highway view). As I drove past the Portland, MI city limit sign and saw nothing but fields of whatever Portland is known for growing, the city girl in me sneered and asked "who the hell would actually live here?" These types of small towns perplex me in the same way that the people I see eating at La Bamba when I get home from work do. As I pass the window to the burrito franchise at 4 PM on Fridays and see booth-goers chowing down on the soupy white cheese and crumbly cat meat, I can't help but think one of two things: 1. Why are these people drunk at 4 PM? 2. If they aren't drunk, why are they deliberately asking the burrito gods for digestive problems before a Friday night?
We actually drove past Portland intentionally. I booked our hotel in Lansing, about 20 miles further north as our resort for the weekend. I had actually heard of Lansing prior to my small town expedition, which made me feel a bit more at ease about sleeping in butt-fuck nowhere. Also, when I went to book a hotel in Portland, I had an overwhelming two options. The first was a Motel 8, which not only roared classy but also was sold out (Lord knows what, besides the race, drew a hotel crowd of people to Portland). The second option was another motel that looked like the bathroom stall Jamie Lee Curtis cowered in during Halloween H20 as the masked man tried to murder her. Lansing was clearly the better choice. Even with my GPS, I managed to miss the exit so Mary E and I took the "scenic route" through "downtown" Lansing. (Note: my use of "scenic" is not to be interpreted as the same definition as when I used this word to describe San Diego in June). Hungry as hippos and wind-blown as Kelly Osbourne's hair, Mary E and I grabbed some lunch and shopped for a wee bit. Shopping with my mom is fun, but my credit card continually gives my mom the stink eye. You see, Mary E encourages all my purchases and somehow her justification always seems logical. When I tell her that she's a bad influence on me, she always relies on the same rebuttle: "I don't justify ALL your purchases. Like if you wanted to spend $35 on that panda hat that Daytona bought, I would've told you 'no'". That's her only ammo. And sorry Daytona, your panda hat was a freak-of-nature purchase that only you could justify. But my mom appreciates having a comeback, thanks to you.
After we supported the local Lansing economy, it was time to pick up my race packet. All my races thus far have been at least 15,000+ people and hosted pre-race expos the Friday and Saturday prior to the run. Portland's hometown race, on the other hand, set up a race packet pick up table at Cheeky Monkey's from 3-6 PM on Saturday. We back tracked to Portland and parked the car right outside of the smiley baboon shop, in between two pick-up trucks. As I entered the coffee shop, my entire perception of the town changed and I realized exactly why people live there. Walking into Cheeky Monkey's was home to population Pleasantville. Four women stood behind the counter chit-chatting and showing pictures of their families and kids from prom to one another; a man standing behind a table welcomed us; a teenager volunteering to work the packet pick-up table sat at the counter eating his lunch that was probably "on the house"; a kids area crafted for creativity stood ground in the back of the shop. The coffee shop was quaint with character. I walked to the table to pick up my race goodies and was handed my bag by Jane Bower. Jane Bower was a charming woman with a kind smile and the sweetest demeanor tucked behind her small-town accent. When I asked her how many people were running the half marathon (they also had a 5K race), she smiled, "Just about 80!" 80 people. That was about the same amount of girls on my high school cross country team. I texted my friends the seemingly humorous amount of competition and the majority excitedly replied "OMG, win it!"
 |
| Cheeky Monkey's Coffee House |
 |
| Portland's Main Street |
 |
| In front of Cheeky Monkey's supporting Relay for Life |
 |
| Mary E along the river |
Time killed, we went back to our hotel to relax with some NCIS and headed to dinner. Pasta managed to escape the menu (this happened race #4 in Cleveland as well) so salmon it was. (I'm beginning to think American restaurants are cutting back on the Italian food offered as Jersey Shore cast members continue to disgrace us.) One table behind my mom & I sat a mother with two little girls who we shortly learned had very large mouths and made me wanna go Silence of the Lambs on them... not hannibalistic, but just silence them. With Lamb Chop (the kid-friendly puppet, of course, not the meat). The mother kept telling Jenna (the youngest of the two) to sit down. So being my name twin, I really wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt and like the adolescent twiglet, but she really was just giving all the Jenna's in the world a bad name and I couldn't help to worry that I was starring at the future of America. Once the mother muted the little wildebeests with the food served, Mary E and I enjoyed our meal and the delightful mother-daughter conversations we find ourselves often having. Back to the hotel, we made a quick pit stop for corn and chocolate. It's my favorite combo. ...kidding. Frozen corn for my bothersome hamstring that had been hurting for about a week and a half and chocolate for the obvious reason: we're women.
I zonked out and awoke at 6AM (later than usual, knowing that traffic for 80 runners would not cause a delay) for the 7:30 race. I was really excited for this race, hoping to get a personal best. With the exception of my pain-pinging hamstring and aging left knee, I felt really strong in my weeks of training up to this race. My 5th race in San Diego had taken place the first weekend in June and this race #6 was occurring the last weekend in July, so it had been nearly 2 full months since my runner's adrenaline surged and I kicked it into high gear for a race. After a minor mishap of forgetting my ipod at the hotel but realizing this quickly, Mary E took the wheel and we headed to Portland's high school for the start.
As we arrived in the school parking lot, visions of high school races flashed as the atmosphere felt so similar (or maybe it was the scenery of a big high school building and track that rewinded my mind 7 years). All the runners were calm, casually stretching near their cars, or catching up with a friend. Runners could still register the day-of so by the time the race began, the 80 original runners had probably reached the triple digits. No large stereo system and mic were needed for announcements, but merely the power of a megaphone. The race coordinator (Jane Bower's husband) explained that with the recent rainstorms they had earlier in the week, the rivers overflowed and submerged half the original course under water so they did a quick rerouting. The course would start downhill, we'd do a 5 mile loop-twice and then end uphill. With the groans from the crowd of the unfortunate uphill news, Mr. Bower replied "Well, that's just the way God made it" in the true Alabama twang he sported in central Michigan. So the runners made their way to the start line (I found myself near the front with the white kenyan men) and rather than a gun fired, a town local said "You guys ready? On your mark, get set" Fog horn. And we were off.
 |
| Race Pace TAT! |
 |
| Start line |
 |
| Pace leader...on a bike? Yupp. |
 |
| Around mile 6.3 |
 |
| My mom thought this was funny. Small town charm. |
 |
| About 1.5 miles to go! |
I took the race out a bit too fast, but with The Black Keys blasting, I was in the zone. It was actually pretty cool having it as a smaller race because the course took place along a running path- no more than 10 feet wide. Usually, the 30,000 racers I accompany elbow one another as we all try to squeeze our strides through the city streets and avoid tripping over fire hydrants. This race didn't pose these obstacles and instead offered a clear, tree-lined path reminiscent of my home Prairie Path. The first few miles went really well but offered a couple ups and downs worth of hills that I wasn't expecting in this Michigan pasture land. Mile 6.3 began the start of the second 5 mile loop where I spotted Mary E. In between making friends with the locals she stood near, she managed to support me with her motherly good spirits which I always appreciate. I knew she befriended the locals because as I passed I heard a tall, unfamiliar dude yell "Go Lincoln Park! Yeah Chicago!" It turns out this was the son of the race coordinator and as Mary E befriended him she learned that he, too, was from Lincoln Park, Chicago. Then she proceeds to tell him the intersection and restaurant I live above (which he knew exactly where it was), so if random men ever come a-knockin', I'll have my own mother to blame. Thanks mom.
Along the way, the volunteers at the water stations were some of the friendliest and loudest supporters. One station even had two little boys with drenched towels who would whip them around, causing a bit of a sprinkler effect cooling off the runners. (This also seems to be a very strategic parenting tactic- let the boys be rambunctious and tire them out at the same time...all while doing a good thing for others. Those will be some good men, right there.) The second 5-mile loop was challenging, mentally more than anything else. It's knowing that you have to re-run what you just ran for the past 40 minutes. My pace eased and as I took one of the mini hills around mile 8, my hamstring pulled with pain. The remaining 5 miles were a hurting hobble as I favored my right leg, trying to avoid putting my weight on the left.
Up the hill and around the high school parking lot, I finished the race in pain, but strong coming in at 1:47:37. I've always been the consistent type in a lot of aspects of my life, and this is deeming true in these races as well as I keep running approximately the same time. My roommate Sarah and I were just talking about this; with the exception of St. Louis (remember the medic tent scene?) all my other races have been within less than 4 minutes of each other. I should probably expect this, seeing that I don't switch up my routine and when I do it normally just means me adding more mileage because I get on a runner's high. Anyways, my hamstring tightened as I tried to walk it off, hearing Jane Bower congratulate me from the near finish line.
Cheeky Monkey's cookies, muffins, breads and fruits distracted me from my painful leg muscle, but the best of all was the cooler with ginormous popsicles in it. Yum. It was seriously better than any Flinstone push up or ice cream sandwich, so I'm not entirely sure why people do absurd feats for a Klondike Bar when they can just have a tastey red popsicle instead. Awards came about an hour later as runners continued to trickle in. Not only did I get my normal "participant/finisher" medal, but I was also announced over the megaphone and dazzled with a second medal for being the top finisher in my age group of females 20-24. I was also the 5th female overall to finish the race. With double the hardware, my chain was fa sho hanging low.
 |
| Race 6 complete! 1:47:37 |
 |
| Topping the charts |
 |
| Getting my "top finisher" medal, like a boss. |
After collecting my bling, Mary E and I headed back to the car. Along the way we were intercepted by Jane Bower, with her heart of gold, who wanted to make sure I was okay after seeing the pain I was in from my hamstring. Her and her husband were the coordinators of the race and it was then that she informed us this was the first year they tried the half marathon as their Relay for Life. I commended her for such an organized race and just genuinely good people supporting the cause and the runners and we parted in good spirits. Mary E was beaming with pride as always; I'm really surprised she hasn't made a button to wear on her sweatshirt like she used to do when I played AYSO soccer in my Mia Hamm-wannabe glory days. She was extra chatty as we headed back to the hotel and I have Cheeky Monkey's to thank for only serving regular, caffinated coffee at the race. My mom ONLY drinks decaf coffee, so when she has caffeine she's like a wind-up toy controlled by a four year old on a sugar high. (Okay, that was mean, sorry momma) but she is a riot. We grabbed our minimal luggage for the weekend and hopped back on the road to Elmhurst.
Overall, I was so happy I did this small town race; it was fun and very different from every other race I've run. My perspective of Portland changed entirely from the time I judged the fields of nothingness from the highway to when I actually saw how thrilled someone like Jane Bower was with the turnout and support of her town. As I continue to always be "on the go" for these races, it's places like and the people of Portland that remind me to slow down and really remember what's important in life. It's always the people; a place is only as good as the company of the people there.
Well I've gotta go pack for race #7. I leave for Minneapolis tomorrow and I can't believe it's already here- it snuck up on me! I literally feel like I just ran Portland, though it was 3 weeks ago. So I'd be lying if I said I felt completely prepared for this one. But as always, I know it'll be awesome. And my best friend Caitlin is coming with me. And I'm staying with my crazy cool friend Alissa. Good people. Good times. Good night. DONATE: http://donate.breastcancer
