Sunday, May 13, 2007


that sounds about right

I sit here, wincing from pain emanating from my tailbone. It's most certainly (okay, most likely) bruised. How did this tender area become bruised, you may ask?

Well. Yesterday was a red-letter day. A couple of months ago, Mel inspired me to sign up for a 5K. I intended on training - or, at least running, like, three times - before the big event, but due to reasons out of my control (as in, I'm lazy), I only jogged once. It didn't go so hot.

So, obviously I was freaking out yesterday morning as we keyed up at the starting line. I didn't want to die, I didn't want to come in last, I didn't particularly want to be there. E, an accomplished half-marathoner, insisted that she wanted to run with me. I thought she was insane, and told her that I wouldn't blame her if she bolted off once she saw my amazing pace.

E stuck with me the entire time. It was like Simon carrying Jesus' cross. She cheered me on (wait did I just compare myself to Jesus?!!?), laughed with me, kept telling me that I was doing great. Thanks to E, the race was Also, thanks to the fact that it was a 5K that kicked off National Police Week, the course was chock full o'hot guys to flirt with.

We've decided that this summer, we're going to become 5K whores, hitting up all the races sponsored by hot guys. If anyone knows of any of these...let me know. Fireman's 5K, anyone?

But no, I thought for certain that I'd take a tumble while stumbling down Capitol Hill, but I finished that race relatively unscathed.

Yesterday I met up with my aunt and uncle for dinner at their hotel. My uncle won an award from work, and they had put him up at the Ritz. They bought me new shoes (because my life is awesome), and we lived it up at the dinner, downing red wine and good food. As I tottered out to the cab, I figured that doing an ass-plant on the marble floors of the lobby would be a classic move. But somehow, the stilettos held their pointy grip, and I held my dignity (well, as much dignity as I had left, since when I had returned from "powdering my nose," there had been two waiters waiting for me. One pulled out my chair as the other snapped my napkin in my lap at the same time. Astounded, I said "ddaaaaaaammmmmn." Ensuing laughter all around.)

And then, in the cab, a monsoon hit. I told Michael, my awesome, chatty 24-year old cab driver to totally pull over if he needed to. He didn't...but it was definitely touch and go for a while. And did I give him my card? I think I did. Hmm.

After I got back, I was sorta ready to call it a night, and just drink margaritas in the apartment, but E had bigger plans for us that involved dancing in (on?) Bethesda bars. We waited for the bus for a tremendous amount of time (something that happens when one bus is early, and the other is late), but we finally rolled to Union Jack's around 11:30.

The place was not that full, but we started to get crowded on the dance floor. We need a lot of space for our joyous twirling. E, always a problem-solver, turned to me with her 007 in hand, screamed "Let's get on the speaker!!"

I looked at the speaker with a dubious eye, wondering if it was secretly hollow and full of bones of girls who had similar exhibitionist tendencies. E hopped up, nimble as a little rabbit, and she held out her hand to pull me out. Our stage was about 3 feet high, placing us head and feet above the rest.

Once someone gets a taste of the spotlight, they don't give it up easily, even if other girls are trying to cram on to get a piece of our prime spot. Luckily, the speaker was placed near a window, so I grabbed onto the window ledge quite a few times to prevent a disastrous turn of crowd-surfing while three of us gyrated and jumped away. At some points, only my toes were on the speaker.

I was free and easy. I was dancing. I didn't need to worry about trivial things such as gravity.

After about 2.5 hours of dancing on the speaker, we decided to peace out. We "gracefully" hopped down, barged our way through the crowd, and headed out. Something about all of it made me feel as though we should have gotten paid for the time we spent there.

As we exited the front door, we ran into that super tall guy who went to Catholic, wore a cowboy hat, and grilled (with open flame) in the back of a pickup truck (you know who I'm talking about). I told him that I remembered him because we published that picture in the Tower, and he was like "I remembered that picture!" So we had a mutual moment of being like "hey, our lives are connected." Or maybe we didn't, and I just had had a bit too many 007s. Whatev.

Whilst in my second cab of the night, we decided to hit up the happening spot of downtown Silver Spring. The cab kinda sorta dropped us off in the right spot, and we strolled through the light drizzle, prepared for Part Deux of hilarity.

Well, my friends, I regret to inform you that downtown Date Central of Silver Spring is lacking hilarity. Austin Grill was closed (tragedy for E, who wanted their chips); McGinty was sporting aged clientele, and Galaxy was just...a disappointment.

Not being ones to waste time, we cut our losses and peaced out. On the way back to the apartment, we were semi-silent as we were thinking of the night, and that silence was interspersed with meditations on why Silver Spring was empty. My theory is that its proximity to D.C. is killing it...why would anyone stick in SS if D.C. bars are a metro ride away.


The smooth brick sidewalk was slick from the rain. The soles of my shoes were friction-less. I bought them at Payless two years ago, and at that time, they were hardly the epitome of fine construction. Suddenly, I felt as though I were on skis. I heard E go "Me-" and the "g" hit the air the same time that my ass hit the ground.

I scrambled up sorta fast, or maybe it was sorta slow, it was just hell. My ass hurt so much. I was torn between laughing and crying, so I did a bit of both. For the second time today, E was my sole supporter, lacing her arm through mine and telling me that we were "almost there."

Once we got to our building, I threw my shoes in the trashcan. See, I have a forgiving heart, and I was afraid that I was going to welcome those suckers back into my life. I hobbled into the front door, barefoot, dirty, with mascara running down my face, and holding my ass.

It was, indeed, a red-letter day.

My Track Coach Tip: Tone down the flirting with the police officers and you'll tone up your time. Also, while it helped team morale, stopping to blow kisses at army men walking by didn't help either.
Remember - this is a race and not Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

Overall: The sheer fact we were even able to beat other people with all your fanfare just goes to prove one sublime fact: You're a natural, Legs!
I LOVE IT. Reading Elle's comment puts a more realistic twist on the way you run/walk.

Flash back to last week. Walking around Summit with balloons, asking hot guys if they wanted one. So meg blowing kisses at army men. Yes, that is the meg I know!

CONGRATS on doing so well and completing your first 5K!

Great job on the'll only get faster from here...unless you wear shoes from Payless, that is.

Oh Meg, sorry about all that for your sake, but I have to say, your story had me cracking up :)
e: I was economizing...playing it cool...acting like I wanted to slow and chat, when really...I was getting my my breath! or something.

c-note: you in for the next one? :-) It will be a blast!

jc: I need to throw away almost all of my shoes. I almost fell again yesterday, in a different pair!

tc: good! What good is falling on my ass if we can't laugh about it?
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?