Run Like A Girl

Last Saturday I ran the women-only Mini 10K in Central Park. At first I was confused as to why it was called a "Mini" 10K — were the miles somehow magically shorter than those in a regular 10K? It turns out, as a co-worker and fellow racer described and as the "History" section of the website confirms, to be "a much stranger and sadder story": Back in the '70s, when the idea for the race came into being, it was believed that women — being the fragile and delicate treasures that we are — were physically incapable of completing a full marathon, so they substituted this special all-female 10K just for us, and since it was the '70s and mini-skirts were in style, they named it "The Mini." Knowing this backstory, I think I would have preferred if it had instead had something to do with the Mini-Cooper, or midgets. I decided to just call it "The Lady Race."

I hadn't realized prior to the run what a draw it was. During the pre-race "festivities," which I was unable to observe due to my not-at-all publicly embarrassing "NON-COMPETITIVE/12-MINUTE MILE" corral being too far away from the stage, the voice from the loudspeaker welcomed former Olympians and marathon winners from places like San Francisco and Sweden and as far away as Kenya and New Zealand. Most notably, for me, was the announced presence of Paula Radcliffe, the New York Marathon winner from 2007. Back then, this picture:

...plastered not only in the sports section, but on the front pages of newspapers everywhere, filled me with such joy that to this day I still believe it represents all that is right with the world.

As tiring as it was (who knew Central Park West had so many damn hills??), it felt great to see so many bouncing ponytails ahead of me, to pass so many boyfriends and husbands cheering for their girls on the sidelines, to be a part of this crowd of ladies of all shapes and sizes and ages and races and speeds, all of us headed for the same finish line. Corny as it sounds, it was moving — literally and figuratively. And it was also kind of fun, whenever a male jogger just out for a regular run got a little too close and crossed our path, to point and yell "Hey! Get outta here, faker!"

However, I've mentioned in my previous running post, that I have no will power when it comes to matters of endurance and physical fitness. This time around, though, I was inspired to push myself a little harder — as illustrated by this internal monologue around the 4-mile mark: "Ok, once you pass that lamp post you can walk for the next 3 songs [was listening to my iPod]...ooh, wait — 'Just A Girl' just came on! This is symbolic! You have to keep running for this one...c'mon, you can make it; you’re almost there...lip-synch — it'll help you breathe...wow, why does this seem so tough? Maybe I can walk during the instrumental break...NO, damn it! You will not walk during the instrumental break! Stop being such a wuss! — Ok, ok, I'm sorry; I’ll finish the song...sheesh..."

And fittingly for this particular race, as I came breathlessly down the home stretch, my sister spotted me from the sidelines and ran alongside me, clapping and cheering, right up to the finish line. GIRL POWER!

* * *

I've often noted that I could really do without the sideline photographers littering the courses of practically every race I've ever run. Really, who wants a picture of themselves red-faced and sweaty and in an awkward position circulating around the web, unless they're a porn star? During my first official race back in March in Prospect Park, the finish line photographer snapped this iconic shot:

[Click for full-size awesomeness]

I was seriously considering ordering the commemorative plaque.

So this time around, specifically since it was "The Lady Race," I decided every time I passed the paparazzi not to give them the finger, as was my instinct, but to do the Lady GaGa eye and blow them a kiss. And for once, I'm actually kind of looking forward to the results.

Coincidentally, on the train ride home, a cute guy got on a few stops after me, noticeably carrying a Kermit The Frog stuffed animal. Fortunately, he sat near me, so I had the opportunity to lean over and ask, "I'm sorry, but I need to know — what's with Kermit?"

"Oh," he replied a bit sheepishly, "I passed this elementary school doing a fundraiser and they were selling them, and I couldn't resist."

Heart = melting.

He added, "But now I just look like that guy who carries weird stuff around."

"Hey," I reassured him, "Lady GaGa did it! That makes you cool to me."

Man, I wish I had got his number...

* * *

Yesterday, I ran the Corporate Challenge 3.5 mile race in Central Park. And I'm pretty sure a large portion of my co-workers are now wondering how an obviously insane person ever ended up being hired by a respected company like ours. Which I suppose is warranted, since one of the HR supervisors overheard a piece of conversation in which I was involved that began thusly: "So I was stalking Adam Lambert's brother on Twitter..."

But enough about Neil...

I was feeling pretty good, considering it was my second race in twice as many days. I even managed to pass a couple of co-workers. And then at about the 2 ½ mile mark, my foot started going numb.

I don't know why this happens, but I've experienced it several times before. It doesn't occur every time I run, but there doesn't seem to be any predictability to it. When it does pop up, I usually just try to grin and bear it. Because I am obviously a retarded masochist.

So I stopped along the sidelines and shook the foot out a little and loosened my shoe laces, hoping this would solve the problem as it occasionally has before. I did this 3 more times at regular intervals — no improvement. Finally I just gave up and took off the shoe. Miraculously, feeling finally began to creep back in. They say barefoot running is supposed to be good for your joints, so I kept my sock on and ran the last half a mile with only one shoe (using much more caution than usual to avoid the piles of horseshit that dotted the course).

Made it to the end and hopped over the finish line on one foot. Can't wait to see how this picture comes out.

UPDATE: Damn it, picture results from the Mini came in this morning — no GaGa eyes. Yet I do consider these an improvement over that last masterpiece:

[Click to embiggen. P.S.: Those facial expressions are laughter, not pain.]

UPDATE AGAIN: Anyone who may have doubted my artistic ability after this post, please compare the MS Paint representation of my hair to the real-life one in the photo above. I AM A GENIUS!!!