Friday, March 27, 2015
Thursday morning a pocket of fog clung to the shoreline of Smither's cemetery across the creek from me. Sunrise saw warmer temperatures jockeying for position with the cooler nighttime ground temperatures. Although it rained on and off throughout the day, it was a very warm day eventually.
That warmth is predicted to be short-lived, however, and just in time for yet another race I've not prepared for: the Monument Avenue 10K in Richmond, also known as Baby Sis's stomping grounds. We'll spend Friday night at her friend Dino's house, awake at Oh-So-Dark Thirty Saturday morning, and limp up and down Richmond's quaint neighborhoods in freezing temperatures--although likely nowhere near as cold as the Valentine's Day race at the winery.
Afterwards, I'll drive to Daughter's track meet in Charles City, which is sort of/not really/but kind of on the way home. If you're going the long way which includes going in the entirely opposite direction.
On Sunday I hope to do absolutely nothing.
Have a wonderful weekend.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Once upon a time, the Chesapeake Bay Sisters, who don't get
In spite of the fact that the eldest recently turned 50, neither sister acted as though she were a day past
|Please ignore the wad of chewing gum in the upper right corner of CBW's mouth. |
The 50-year-old sister
|Imagine my glee when, at practically every water station, someone yelled,|
"Great job, Aunt Esther!"
(Our family has an obsession with Sanford and Son.)
In spite of everything, including the fact that the 50-year-old's longest run since November was six miles on Valentine's Day in igloo-compatible temperatures at the New Kent Winery, and the younger sister only ran two or three times since
At least not for us.
Our worst time ever for completing 13.1 miles is 2 hours and 45 minutes. Our best is about 2 hours and 15 minutes. We landed squarely in the middle this time at 2 hours 27 minutes.
But never mind all this talk about running.
The sisters only suffer through the tortuous, pre-sunrise exercise for the post-race endorphins and beer.
|Baby Sis and the Atlantic Ocean. And keg beer. It's about 10:30 a.m. here.|
But we've completed 13.1 miles!
In races past, the sisters felt slightly stymied by the post-race rules and regulations about free beer, specifically the quantity allowed. Usually there's a limit of some sort, imposed by the very responsible race director, who has no idea that certain very tall, very un-average sisters may, for example, be able to not train for 13.1 miles of exercise and consume more (of everything) than your average person.
The point is, really,
In this particular race, each bib--or race number that says, for example, Aunt Esther, even if your name is really Baby Sis--has four places that the beer givers cross off each time a beer is handed out.
Baby Sis was not happy with being told how many beers she could have, particularly by her race bib or by a bib crosser offer. She scoured the post-race festivities trying to talk other people into giving her their bib. When I suggested it was just easier to simply purchase the beer and handed her two that I did purchase, she acted like I'd just handed her a bag full of
It's all about pushing the limits with Baby Sis.
And then it happened.
As we were sitting just outside the tent on the sand with all the Happy Marathoners, basking in the sun, enjoying the last of our free beer and even a few that were purchased--much to Baby Sister's chagrin about having to choke down purchased vs. free beer--a gust of very strong wind hit the back side of a Clearly Uninterested in Drinking Four Free Beers Marathoner who wasn't clutching her number.
The wind caught the bib just so that it went way up in the air and landed almost directly in front of where the sisters were sitting in the sand.
The bib, boasting four unclaimed beers, was snatched up by an innocent bystander who attempted to locate its rightful owner. At least one of the sisters--not the older one---saw this as a sign from above.
The sisters enjoyed four more free beers courtesy of Patty, bless her sweet beerless heart.
A good time was had by all.
Except, perhaps, poor Patty.