…The mustache will be explained later in this post; but no, it has nothing to do with No-Shave-November. I actually think that concept is disgusting, primarily because it combines laziness, prickly facial hair and guys’ cockiness who think they’re a “man” because they can grow such shrubbery on their face. So while the descripted wore their burliness proudly, my friend Kirstin and I hit the road after a half day of work on Friday.
How Kirstin and I became friends is a fairly recent and unfriendly way of becoming friends. She started at our place of work last December; we became acquaintances by March, friends by April, and now spend far too much time together. And I don’t hate it. The delay for our friendship is not because we share a common belief that all work places should have a natural peanut butter pump machine, think Aziz Ansari is the god of all humor, or think weiner dogs are shiny, beautiful little beings…because we do- instead it’s because she happens to have the same name as the 19 year old my ex decided to “pursue” in an elevator in Jamaica last year. So I obviously thought anyone with that name was the devil. But low and behold, this friendo is awesome so I was more than happy to hear she wanted to visit her friend who recently moved to Indy and would join me for race #10.
The trip started with Kirstin popping in her mix CD she made for the trip which we ended up never taking out of the player. That’s right, we listened to a full 7 hours roundtrip of everything from The Naked and Famous to Queen to Kanye and Jay-Z. (Kirstin also painstakingly listened to my valiant efforts to hit Beyonce’s high notes.) We passed a “HELL IS REAL” billboard (On the reverse side it said “JESUS IS REAL”. Thank GOD.), a Christian school bus in the middle of a field and not a single speed limit sign. So, I had no idea what the speed limit was, which would cause this next issue: We ended up cruising behind a State Police car. Keeping my distance but pacing off the cop’s speed, I thought I was fine. But when the cop got over in the right lane and slowed down, I took that as my cue to do the same, seeing that speeding by a cop would just be blatantly stupid. Apparently so is getting behind them. Moments later, we watched the cop car exit, speed up the ramp and come back down chasing poor Lady Slipper’s blue ass. Damnnnn ittttt: pulled over. The woman with a horrendous twang and a uniform that made her look like the trunk of a Weeping Willow told me she pulled me over for three reasons: 1. She was going 80-85 mph but that does NOT mean I can do the same because according to her she’s “trained in driving” and she’s sick of dealing with idiots everyday. Ummm okay treebark lady, I have a license too, does that make me “trained” in driving? Andddd are you insinuating I’m one of those idiots? Because I, personally, think I’ve got a higher IQ than the average coconut. 2. It was a very “smartass” move to get behind her when she slowed down rather than pass her, which she thought I was going to do. No, that is a SMART move, you ASS. Again, passing you rather than getting behind you would just be saying, Please give me that ticket sugar momma. 3. My passenger side brake light was out. Okay, not only do I not have eyes in the back of my head, I sure as hell don’t have them on the back of my car so how am I supposed to know that? I mean, I know I’m pretty much a celeb at this point but it’s not like I have paparazzi chasing me and letting me know these things. They’re too busy catching Ashton Kutcher in hot tubs in twenty-year olds that are probably named Kirstin, too. The cop took my license (which is still Missouri and completely invalid seeing that I’ve lived back in Illinois now for a good year and a half) and walked back to her car. She dicked around in there for a while and probably played some Words With Friends or some shit because when she came back she had no ticket in hand and handed Kirstin a warning through the passenger side window. How I got out of that with a WOMAN cop is beyond me. I normally assume successes such as this are due to my huge beaver teeth that people, including female cops apparently, just can’t resist. Kirstin thought it was either because she was sporting some cleave or she thought the cop thought something was wrong with me because I sit so close to the steering wheel and just felt bad for me. Well, if it’s massive orthodontia, tits or misunderstood retardation, who cares. CHEERS.
The rest of the trip was smooth sailing and after 3.5 hours in the car and entrance into a new time zone, we arrived in downtown Indy. From here on out, I’ll refer to Indianapolis as Indy, because Indianapolis is a stupid long name, just like people of royalty who have four first names followed by Roman Numerals. Unfamiliar with the downtown area, we were in search for the Convention Center. Kirstin made the sadly logical decision to just “follow the people wearing jeans with running sneakers”. Ugh, she’s so right. Runners really have terrible fashion sense in that respect. Which might surprise you since I’m a runner and quite the fashionista with unmatched socks and the seam of my skinny jeans always being twisted because they barely squeeze over my massive man calves. We entered the glorified world of running paraphenalia and I fetched my race packet while simultaneously reminding Kirstin she could STILL register if she REALLY wanted to. An eye roll followed.
We then went in search for a restaurant at which I could stuff my face with noodles and bread, my very ladylike carbo-load. Along the way we noticed wooden planks in the middle of the road that were being used for a senior portrait photo shoot. Besides providing a wicked background to make that 18 year old look like a badass, we were very confused as to the purpose of these wood islands. The Spaghetti Factory seemed like an obvious choice for dinner. Inside we waited a solid 40 min. after a projected 20 minute wait time among other runners (we knew this because yes, they were wearing jeans with running shoes. Okay, and they had race packs). And babies. There were so many babies just chillin’, droolin’, doing their chubby thigh thang there. There was one teeny, tiny baby in a polka dot dress and headband who literally looked like she just popped out…presumably, fully dressed in polka dots. The reason I mention all these little critters is not only because there were so many it really added to the experience at the restaurant but also because Kirstin and I have very similar feelings towards such little beings and the birthing process in general so this situation made us feel nervous, awkward and disturbed. While waiting, Kirstin ran into her old high school soccer coach, who too, was running the half marathon the following morning. Finally seated, Kirstin and I found ourselves to be placed at a four person table that could have comfortably seated eight. It was such a large square of a table that we considered sitting next to each other like awkward, overly-romantic couples do; we decided against it for fear we’d look like an awkward, overly-romantic lesbian couple. Even though we’re far too attractive for that stereotype. (Okay yes there are pretty lesbians, we just aren’t them). Salad served, Kirstin quickly learned that the chef decided to top her mixed greens with a brown paper towel. Now, most terrible-soul people cause a rukus about such a gross accident; but, being the classy ladies we are who really don’t give two shits about such nonsense laughed it off but carefully inspected the remainder of our meal for trolls, stickers or any other random objects.
Post-dinner we headed 15 minutes across town to our pad for the weekend. Remember my awesome host in San Diego who was my dad’s friend from childhood, Maureen? Well, THIS was the home of Marsha, my dad and Maureen’s other best friend. Marsha was actually in Chicago for the weekend but so very generously opened her home to Kirstin and me for the weekend. Upon arrival, we noticed a few things: 1. The streets were seriously so freaking wide. Honestly, I think Marsha’s neighborhood street was wider than the Edens expressway. I mean, I know nothing about real estate but if I were ever trying to sell a house in that neighborhood of Indy, I’d include “very spacious street, perfect for an epic block party” in the description to really seal the deal. 2. Marsha’s German Shepard, Gracie, was barking at us, loudly. Of all things Kirstin and I have in common, love for dogs is not one of them she possesses (note: unless it’s a wiener dog). I’m pretty sure the only thing Kirstin liked about hearing we’d have a K9 roommate for the weekend was that it was German like her. But after entering with a baby-talk “Hi Gracie!”, the dog warmed up to us and enjoyed her visitors. 3. Marsha’s house was darling. She has quite the knack for decorating in an eclectic manner, which didn’t surprise me based on the charming and wonderful personality she hones.
Saturday morning I was greeted with Kirstin in knee high argyle socks and a North Face (mind you, this is the same girl who the day prior mocked runners for their terrible fashion sense). To be fair, I had forgotten to turn up the heat after Marsha warned me she keeps it lower for the dog during the day. So it was a bit chilly in the abode…but nothing quite as chilly as the outside world. Arriving at the race early, we sat in the car to avoid the brisk 35 degrees. After my first of two porta-potty stops per routine, we took shelter in a large, heated tent with other runners. Kirstin seemed to enjoy the people watching of all the freaks of nature (myself included) who willingly wanted to run in cold weather for 1-6 hours. We parted ways after agreeing she’d try to catch me at mile 3 and the finish line. Shivering til the start next to the State Capitol building, the gun went off followed by the cliché “And the bass keeps running and running and running running…” Black Eyed Peas, Let’s Get it Started in Here blared.
I took out the race a little faster than I prefer- running a 7:42 my first mile, but fell into my normal groove shortly thereafter. It was still fairly dark out when the race started and steered us through the minimal streets of downtown Indy (it really isn’t that big). I kept my eyes out for “monuments” as the name of the race “Monumental Marathon” promised me some legit, old buildings. Nearing mile 3, the course veered to “Monumental circle” that possessed the only monument I saw the entire race, towering high above and decorated with hundreds of spectators at its base. It was definitely a cool little area to run through and as I weaved around the bend, I kept my eye out for Kirstin. Sure enough, I spotted her right away and threw my arms in the air, waving like a wild banshee in hopes she would spot me in the pool of runners. She did and managed to take a few pics…and by pics, I mean she actually took videos of the banshee like arm wave. With a pep in my step from seeing my fan, I trudged on to later be entertained by a step group in all black sweats shaking their thangs and stomping their steps.
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| Pre-race: 7AM's never looked so good. |
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| we'll call this one: "smokin' fast!" har har. |
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| Post race: 1:42:33 later. #464 out of over 12,000! |
While Indy isn’t a very large downtown area, the course did a really nice job of taking runners winding through the streets to enjoy what the city does have to offer. The middle miles seemed to go by pretty quickly as I was extremely satisfied with my recent addition of Will Smith’s “Miami” to my race list. Seriously, Will Smith does no wrong in my opinion. The last three miles was where it actually got tough for me. While all races are physically challenging, I’ll admit that Indy was kind of a rough race for me in the sense that, come mile 10, I just wanted it to be over. I’m not entirely sure why but my guess is with my extremely busy October, my longer runs suffered and thus my legs became adapted to only running 8-12 miles, making that final stretch a painful challenge. (It also didn’t help that I was sporting shorts in 35 degree weather and my legs were tightening in the cold). And, it was WINDY: straight into the icy wind the last three miles. It burned to breath; it stung my thighs; my damp-with-sweat hair painfully struck my face like little icicles. And the nausea set in. My final miles are normally my fastest, as I typically kick with 7:10-7:30 min miles. The end of this race, I was doing 8:10s at best as I tried to lift my legs higher and faster but they numbed with exhaustion. I spoke my normal words of positive affirmation including my newest addition recommended by Kirstin and told myself: “I’m SO fucking beautiful.” Admit it, it’s awesome. and hilarious. The finish line in sight, I finally made it across 1:42:33 later—another second fastest time, #464 out of over 12,000, wobbled and puked what I had left in me on the streets of Indy. Kirstin had warned me that if she saw me puke, she probably would too as she’s a “sympathy vommer”. She did indeed spot my moment of ill glory but luckily locked it up and greeted me moments later as I collected my medal and free hat they passed out to all finishers. I debriefed the race for Kirstin as I layered my sweats on, was content with my time and we snagged some free Jimmy John’s sandies.
Post race we weaved our way through the road closures all across Indy to take a quick shower and nap at Marsha’s. A beautifully sunny, 60 degree day made it very opportune for a winery. And so began our day of adult beverage drinking. We headed downtown to the Easley Winery and really splurged on a $3 tour of the winery followed by eight tastings. The tour guide was probably the most enthusiastic wine conessieur you could imagine. That was sarcasm, my friends. But he did know his shit. Our favorite part was obviously the actual tasting of the vino. I managed to “surprise” the tour guide with my choices of the wines I wanted to taste as I’m a young lady and I was apparently choosing wines typically consumed by the age 62 male demographic. Whatever, I like to try new things, bucko. Our favorite was a white wine that was best paired with “muffins and relaxation” or something weird, according to the description. The food pairings were pretty hilarious- I think one of them said it was best paired with a campfire. Mmm, nothing like a s’more to go with a glass of chardonnay.
We ended up getting a few bottles (some as gifts), and some cheese and crackers to enjoy on the patio outside. A bottle and block of cheese later, we were feeling good and overheard someone talking about a brewery across the street. Ears perked, we had the obvious answer for what we’d do next in our day of celebration. Across the street we became confused as we saw no winery in sight. Luckily for technology, Kirstin Googled that shit and we realized we were standing right in front of the brewery. Well, the building looked like a Knights of Columbus, which should have been our cue to what we’d encounter inside. Inside, we were greeted with tickets to redeem 6 free beer tastings. This was seriously the least I’ve spent on alcohol aside from my college days of .75 cent triple wells at Big 12 and the free drinks I scheme for in Vegas. And then we walked in the back to become the cutely-dressed, white girls black sheep of the crowd. The general population in this ‘Sun Kings” brewery (an Indiana local beer) is very similar to the loyal customer base of Harley Davidson. We sipped on our beers (some tasty, others a bit too bitter) among the interesting crowd that included a man wearing a tee that read “I’m not a baby but I still love nipples”. If that doesn’t scream class and my new best friend, I don’t know what does….well, maybe the shower that was in the bathroom there. Seriously that place was weird. But who can pass up free beer and quality blog material? From there, we wandered the streets of Indy towards the more downtown area, picking up a fake mustache along the way. Hence, Mustache rides. If you’ve never been to a good stache party, you’re really missing out. Kirstin hadn’t as I suppose it could be a trashy Missouri leisurely activity, but we enjoyed our newfound fake upper lip decor until it lost its stickiness and we entered an area of the general public. We did a little drunk shopping (don’t worry, I was very satisfied with my purchases the next day) and ended our day of drinking with Mexican Food and chugging H20 to sober up for the ride back to Marsha’s only to start drinking again an hour later.
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| Winery playtime |
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| Figuring out the stache |
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| THE Monument |
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| Celebrating |
Back at Marsha’s we changed into evening wear, played with Gracie who had an ironic fond liking for Kirstin the K9 hater, which of course I found amusing. Kirstin’s friend Andy (the one who moved there a few months ago) joined us for our night out on the streets of Indy. We started our night with Andy’s choice of whipped Cherry vodka, a bev unfamiliar to Kirstin and myself, which ended up being quite delish when paired with root beer (the only dark pop I’ll drink without alch…that I chose to drink with alch). Per Andy’s recommendation of Broad Ripple, a younger, party strip of Indy as opposed to the classy bars downtown, we headed to a bar called Rock Lobster. This is not to be confused with Red Lobster, an eating establishment I’ve never graced with my presence and probably never will. Although I hear their cheddar biscuits are the heat. (Heat= awesome, Mom. FYI). Rock Lobster had an interesting choice of tunes and music videos (Interesting= 90’s Destiny’s Child, Marky Mark, Spice Girls and Cotton-Eye Joe.), which led the three of us to shoot the shit while anticipating if 98 degrees or Boys II Men would be next. The night of celebration became a bit hazy from there on out. I do remember a dance floor, which obviously means I shook my lack of ass. And Kirstin later informed me the night ended with me running up the street to a hot dog cart and demolishing the processed meat in the matter of seconds. Typical. Needless to say, we really took advantage of the fact that I had a Saturday race and were able to celebrate the accomplishment THAT night in full force.
The next morning we slowly moved and packed up. The car ride home consisted of a lot of “hangover silence”, listening to Kirstin’s mix CD on repeat and no cops.
Not only was race #10 exciting because of my second fastest time and a great weekend all-around, reality set in that I only have three of these puppies left. It’s really both exciting and a bit sad as I’m beginning to think what the hell I’m going to do after my next three races. 26 marathons in 26 months? Kiddinggg…maybe. Actually, no, not a shot in hell. But I will need to figure out something to do with all my free time and to challenge myself more so. I will admit that it will be nice to actually see my bank account INCREASE for the first time in a year.
Next stop: Dallas this weekend to run with my boo, Anna (remember her from an earlier post- my college runner roommate?) Well back then, she was Anna Zapata, but after a ring, an exchange of “I do’s” and an amazing wedding, the newlywed Mrs. Primeaux will be joining me for race #11. I’ve been nursing a wicked cold and strep throat combo for the past week and a half which has totally cockblocked my running schedule, so this could be interesting. But eh, with a quick yee-haw I’m thinking this will still be a good one. I mean, afterall, everything’s bigger in Texas, right?
Talk to y’all after. Oh, have you donated yet? Go ahead and do so now, pleaseee :) http://donate.breastcancermarathon.com/2012Marathon/JennaDunkleRuns
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