To Racer's Brain

I know what you're thinking. Besides my beet red face, sweat-matted hair, short strides, evident exhaustion, and over perspiration, Pips and I are practically twins. 
...Right???

Chronicling my stream of consciousness during my first 10-K race over Easter weekend in New Orleans.

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I have to pee.

Like, REALLY pee.

How am I possibly supposed to run when I feel like there's a bowling ball in my bladder?

Which would I hate more? Running 6.2 miles with a bowling ball bladder? Or waiting in that dreadful Port-A-Potty line?

Welp, there went the starting gun.

I'll hold it. Surely there are Port-A-Potties along the route, right?

Okay now...starting to jog....

Hooray! I've officially crossed the start line! I'm officially a racer!

God, I wish they hadn't given me a brown bib number. It TOTALLY clashes with my carefully-styled and, might I say, impossibly chic, grey and black running ensemble.

Why do I always complain about running? This isn't so bad! Actually, this is kind of great! Look at me, passing all of these people.

Literally!

I'm passing people left and right!

I just can't believe it. These people are ALL WALKING??

Guffaw. How embarrassing.

Well, not embarrassing. Just....simple.

Errrr...whoops. It seems I've accidentally been running in the walking lane.

Gulp.

Well, whatever.

This really is leisurely. Look at all the crowds cheering on the runners!

I wonder if I'm inspiring any of them.

I wonder if any of them are saying "Look at the fit redhead with the subtle bronze glow that doesn't look fake at all!" to one another and lamenting how they wish they were disciplined enough to run a 10-K.

I'll wave at them so I look like one of those really friendly, jovial athletes, to whom running isn't an exertion at all.

Maybe I'll inspire them to embark upon a life of fitness!!

They must not have mile markers on this race. I would have definitely seen the one-mile marker by now.

Oh. It seems those crowds are really just people just lined up outside of Starbucks. I wonder if they think my waving to them was silly.

Well, at the very least, I hope they like my French braid.

Whew. Sun's really beating down.

Did I put on deodorant?

I think I put on deodorant.

I can't believe that mom next to me, jogging while pushing a stroller with twins.

Surely I'll be a mom like that someday, right?

I have to pee SO BAD. 

I really hate the race organizers who sent out an email about the importance of staying hydrated. Don't they know people like me take them seriously??

Are those men running in Speedo thongs?

Oh barf. SWEATY, Speedo thongs.

I guess anything goes in New Orleans.

Uh oh...and just when I thought things couldn't get worse than the Speedo thongs...is that the one-mile marker I see??

I've only run ONE MILE so far?!?!?

This is the worst news I've EVER heard.

Actually, that's not true. My mom informing me that she and Dad wouldn't do my taxes this year was the worst news I have ever heard.

Clearly they don't love me.

I really can't wait until the next water station. Jeepers, I'm thirsty.

Speaking of people who don't love me, you know who else must not love me?

Brendon.

If he REALLY loved me, he would have run this race with me.

I can't believe I signed up for this ALONE.

What if I get lonely and want to talk with somebody?

Not that I could even manage to sputter words right now. But, you know, maybe THEY could talk to ME.

Okay, I'm officially getting a little winded.

Am I hallucinating? Or do I really see race volunteers serving beer and Jello shots in lieu of WATER at the three-mile marker?

Do they have any idea how THIRSTY I am???

Maybe I should take one.

I might not survive, after all. This could be my last drink.

Who cares if it's only 9 a.m.? 9 a.m., shmine a.m.

I still have to pee. No Port-A-Potties in sight.

Okay, so this street is nice. And shady. And quiet.

....And there is multi-colored barf spattered on the road.

Hmmm. I can only presume that person was victim to the Jello shots.

Hey, is that the Real World house?

I loved that season. I wonder what happened to Kelly and that doctor, Peter.

And to that little, hyper Polynesian girl. Melissa, maybe?

You know the kinds of runners I really dislike? The kinds of runners who run with their fingers stretched out wide, like jazz hands. They just look so STRAINED.

It stresses me out.

I also hate those runners with their hands permanently in the thumbs up position.

Yeah....I definitely didn't put on deodorant.

I still have one more mile to go??? I thought I was almost DONE!

My knees hurt. The sun is too bright. The sweat drizzling down my back is tickling me.

How on earth do people run marathons?? That's like over five times what I've run so far.

Lindsay, Tyler, Amanda, and anyone else I know in real life who has trained for and run a marathon: You all are my heroes.

How does Pippa Middleton run half marathons and ski, like, a bazillion miles and not get sweaty hair or runny mascara?

Just QUIT it already, Pips.

We were ready to be jealous of Kate; we weren't prepared to love/hate YOU!

Is that what I think I see up ahead? 

That BETTER be the finish line.

Is that mom pushing TWINS crossing the finish line AHEAD of me??

Oh my God! Are people throwing RICE?? Don't they know that's how Juliette Gordon Lowe went deaf on her wedding day?!?

I don't care.

I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care.

I don't care if I go deaf.

'Cuz I'm gonna die.

I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die.

And I'm running with thumbs up hands. I'm running across the finish line with thumbs up hands.

...And I did it.

And I'm not dead.

I'm shocked.

They are offering water? Oh, sure...I guess I'm thirsty.

Actually, maybe I should look for the Port-A-Potties...

Eh. I'll just hold it. Whatever.

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I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter holiday!