Warning: Don't Party and Run

The Three Dancers- Pablo Picasso (1925)

I want to rock ‘n roll all... night... and party e-ve-ry... d-ay…

How-ever, as fun as that would be, there are minor factors preventing an all-day-every-day-party-life-reality: a. I’m a mom, b. I’m an adult, c. I’m me (I’m fun, but not a "party", party animal) and d. I’m a runner who loves to race.

Yes, we’re going to a par-ty, par-ty

Yes, we’re going to a par-ty, par-ty

Yes, we’re going to a par-ty, par-ty

I would like you to dance- par-ty (real Beatles version is “birthday” not party)

Take a cha-cha-cha-chance, par-ty (same here, my party was a super fun White Elephant Gift Party hosted by my sister and brother-in-law)

I would like you to dance, par-ty (again, should be birthday, not party, in case, you’re singing along, too)

But, somehow, the weekend of December 16-18th, I did party all weekend. But, not like a “rockstar party”, like a fun, semi-hip, mostly-dorky, suburban mom’s idea of party animal-good food, a little more good food, followed by..., what else, good food, a tiny sip of wine, here and there, coffee and tear emitting laughter, everywhere, and, of course-singing and dancing!

Let the mingling begin… cha-cha-cha-cha-cha...-par-ty!

“... when is your next race?” asked my sister’s lovely, oh, so... lovely best friend. Even if you don’t know her, can't you get a glimpse of her loveliness? A non-runner asking about my racing schedule deserves immediate adoration. Currently, she’s a non-runner, I say “currently” because I’m working my magic on her and my sister. Both would be fun race partners. Spending a few minutes to hours with them always ends in tear laughter. We all claim to be “Lucy”, not one of us will take an Ethel or Caroline Appleby role. A part of me would be ok with taking the Ethel or Caroline Appleby role since we can’t all be Lucy, but, come on, I’m totally a Lucy.

Anyway, this fun friend asking with genuine interest about my running schedule shows you her awesomeness. She really is a genuine and kind soul-love her! Again, her question, “... when is your next race?” “Tomorrow!”, I answered with a giant smile. “To-mo-rr-ow?”, she asked with a concerned and you’re here partying the night away expression. “Oh, but, it’s not a half marathon or anything, it’s
on-ly a 5k., I clarify with a swap of my right hand over my left tilting head, scrunched up nose, raised right brow while the left teeters down and a raised upper left lip, signaling, it’s no biggy.

Her follow up question, “... what are you running it for?” My triathlete brother-in-law was in the room at the time of the question, I turned to him for camaraderie and understanding when I paused, trying to give an understandable response  to a “current”, non-runner, but all I could express was the truth, “...um...for fun!”, I replied with enthusiasm as I looked  forward to the endorphin/serotonin release the next morning. Of course, my brother-in-law smile-laughed in agreement since all koo-koo runners understand the real reason we love running is the fun and joy of being able to run and endorphins/serotonin (a natural high for those of you not familiar with running).

Party’s Over...

It was about 9:30ish PM at that point and I no longer live a hop-and-skip away from my sister’s home, so I understood her concerned response. “Ok, well, we need to get you ready and hydrated…”, she said with a nurturing tone and gentle caress of my left arm (arm caress was because she loved the texture of my dress). You see…, how sweet and awesome she is, she was concerned about my race preparations and there I was laughing away and having a great time. Ask my brother, the poor guy’s left arm-shoulder was probably sore from the pounding it got. It was his fault , if he wasn’t so funny, I wouldn’t be pounding his arm-shoulder as I laughed. And, he agreed to sit next to me when I tapped the saved seat, next to me. Who doesn’t want to sit next to the funniest brother in the world during a super-fun-White-Elephant-Game (fun, unique version)?! You know, I had a good time, I was sitting in between my hilarious husband and brother. Not sure they were equally pleased, but, oh, well, I had fun.

O-k..., fun is over.

Now, to try and pry my son to leave the fun he and his cousins were having. He’s too good to me, he knew I needed to prep for my race the next morning, so very minimal effort was needed, this time.

This pic is from Thanksgiving, but I was wearing the same shoes, a similar dress, and sat in this same spot at some point for the B-Family-Super-Fun-Unique-White-Elephant-Par-ty. Cute shoes, right? Stylish, comfortable, and runner friendly heels (at least, that's what I tell myself). No full pictures to share from the actual party because, well, half of my people didn't agree to have their images posted. Fi-ne... I'll respect their wishes...

Bedtime? What bedtime?!

I didn’t get to bed until… after midnight.

Droon..., droon..., droon..., droon…

The dreaded sound of the alarm when all you want to do is snooze, “...just two more minutes…Aurgggg..., I’m sleepy…"

Wait! I have a race in Dodger Town! In seconds, my sleepy eyes doubled in size as I ran downstairs… Shoot! Shoot! Shoooooot….

Brrrmm. Brrmmmm. Brrrrrmmm. Coffee is ground, and ready for brewing.

Typically, life pauses until I’ve had the first sip of the glorious brew. Except for that morning, I needed to be ready and out the door in less than thirty minutes if I wanted to leisurely pick up my bib and enjoy views of Dodger Stadium with my son and husband.

Surprise! Your family is TIRED, too.

In case you forgot, we had been in party mode the night before and as much as my boys love to support me, they were a little too pooped to jump for joy at the thought of freezing their bottoms as I ran past them once or twice.

Immediately, after considering their probable desire to continue snoozing on a chilly, still dark, early morning, I suggested skipping the race to my husband. I had to pull his arm (ha!). He agreed, only if our son agreed, too. I’m sure he was hoping our son’s exhaustion outweighed his super support of my running.

I sprinted into my son room's to ask the BIG question. Still half asleep, “... b..u..t… Mom, aren’t you going to be sad if we don’t go?” Love him! “No, honey, of course, not! I totally understand. You’re tired, don’t feel bad, honestly, I’m pretty sleepy, too, so don’t even worry, go back to bed.” See, easy-peasy, no guilt for either of my boys and off I was towards Dodger-Stadium-Adjacent-Race-Location.

Shoot, shooot, shoot…. According to the WAZE app, I was supposed to leave my house fifteen minutes ago. At the current time of departure, my arrival time was estimated at just shy of 4 minutes before 8AM (start time). How does that happen? Why can’t other people start their Saturday morning trips later?

You had to go back to readjust your Santa leggings, didn’t you? You didn’t have time to eat your breakfast, but your leggings are in place.

Shoot-again! I forgot the bag of shoes I was bringing to donate. I turn off my car, quickly get out, sprint inside my house, inhale the smell of coffee and buttery, vanilla french toast I still haven’t tasted, reply to my husband's question , “...the bag of shoes, bye, I love you, guys!” I yell as I slam the door, actually, the wind slammed it.

Another, sprint to my car.

I should have just spent the night at my sister’s house.

Remember, she’s a hop-skip-away (not really, more like 15 min)  from the race location and I had to drive miles and miles. Fortunately, I’m familiar with the area or so, I thought, because I got lost… Yes, me! A huge, HUGE Dodger fan, who has been to that vicinity many, many, many times, and I had no idea where the exact race start was located. Major auuurgggg… Baboom. Baboom. Babooom. Baboom-baboom-ba-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom.

What in the heck is happening to me?!

Ms. On-The-Ball is turning into a mangled tangled spool of thread. Thank goodness for organized race planning on the part of Christmas To Give race organizers who knew runners like me would be running amuck on Saturday morning during Christmas party season. They had signs with balloons , guiding us to the starting line. Ba. Boom. Ba.Boom. Phew, thank you!

This pic was snapped on my way home. I had no time to stop and snap on the way to the race. Don't worry, I didn't stop traffic, aside from me, there were no vehicles, anywhere, in sight.

No other vehicle was visible, I was starting to panic, worrying I had passed the location. At the realization, full blown Karina-panic mode kicked in. The race was starting in nano-seconds and I was still driving to a location I had no idea existed and I’ve been an Angeleno and avid Dodger Stadium visitor for decades. Back to ba-boom-ba-boom-ba-boom-booooooom-thump-thump-thumpppppp-thhhhuuuuuummp.

I see two other vehicles looking equally lost and panicked. I saw them a few more times, which was not a good thing because it meant there was no parking and at that point, I could hear the loud speaker giving course instructions. I was missing my first ever race because of my need to laugh and have a ball with family and friends?! Nope. Not happening. Finally, I found a spot, way, way down the hill, closer to the trail/park entrance, but I found a spot, so what did I do? I hauled b-u-t-t. Skreeech... halted my fresh-soled-short-distance shoes like the emergency stop on the spin bike to jog-walk-run-wa-jo-jo-wal-run-wa-fast walk. Why the chaos, lady? It was a steep hill and darn those hills for not liking me, I wanted to enjoy the race and not feel out of breath before I even crossed the start.

The top of the hill is visible. I made it!

“Ms. the race start is behind those giant trees..” that was kind volunteer #1 upon seeing panic in my face. Hearing the MC cheering on the runners forced me to jam up that small hill. Waaaa... I was so late…

Finally, again, I’m standing in what I thought was the bib pick up line, but lo and behold, it was only a kids craft table?! No!!! I was way late! “Oh, no, Ms., you pick up your bib, over there.”

Ok, now, finally…

Super cheerful volunteer #3, “Oh, hi, Ms… (yeah, I know, I don’t know what is up with the Ms. thing either. Apparently, I look like a Ms. without my cutie by my side. Or, a ma'am couldn’t possible be as lost as me.) “I’m so sorry, I’m so late. This is the first time I’ve ever been late for a race.” I spewed all that in one breath as I tried to pin my bib without panic. As I’m re-pinning, I realize I need to run with the goody bag the relaxed and cheerful volunteer handed me and my wallet ( I ran out of the car with it in my panic and no husband and son to help me with either).

More Late Runners

The couple driving around in front of me, arrived as I was in my pinning-panic mode, “We are so sorry, we are so late” I hear them say to the young woman volunteering. Her response was carefree and relaxed, again,  “Oh, no problem, at all..., it’s chipped timing, so don’t worry.” Easy for her to say, she’s not on the other side of thirtysomething, us thirty-plus runners tend to take this racing thing a little more seriously, especially, when we have Boston qualifying dreams. That clock only tick, tocks away... after thirty.

After an internal conversation on how to best hold onto my goody bag, and wallet, oh, and chapstick to ward off raisin lips, I cross the start line-alone. That felt weird. I’ve never done that before. It felt like I was running out my front door, until I caught up to the end of the line. “Two loops, two loops before you make a left.” said the volunteer. “Ms., is that your first lap?”,she asked as I tuned right, where the first lap runners are meant to run. “Yes.”, I stop to answer. But, I thank her for thinking it was my second, apparently, I looked fast in my Santaish get-up.

First lap-easy, pea-sy. Hills, eat my dust.

You know the saying, “Don’t count your chickens before they hatch”?

Clearly, I forgot it because right when I thought my lack of preparation for this race wasn’t going to stop my speed, it put me in my place. This was my s-l-o-w-e-s-t 5k-EVER! A PR on the slow spectrum, for sure...

On a regular morning, this race would have been a little tougher than a normal 5k race because of the vacillation from pounding on concrete to trails. It was a fun combination of road and trails. But, sluggishness from lack of sleep, sprinting to get to the start, and well, my love-hate relationship with hills, made for a not-on-the-track-to-Boston pace. Not to mention, the narrow paths. With my luck, risking running past someone was not a good idea. The trail paths were a bit splish-splashy and I’m accustomed to road running. Plus, my snow colored sweater leggings are super cute and I didn’t want to ruin them with mud.

You see... narrow path, right? Would you risk slipping if you're mostly athletic, but sometimes clumsy? I didn't think so. Anyway, I had time to pull out my phone while holding my wallet to snap this picture. I ran past my car while on the race path, threw in the goody bag, but held on to the wallet since my key was attached. Hence, my slowest 5k PR!

Hmmm…., think , think  think, Karina.

How to  turn negatives into positive? Hit my head with the palm of my right hand, “D-uh, Karina, remember from Algebra class, eons ago, a negative times a negative equals… a positive?! Oh..., yeah..." I turned my morning negatives into spreading cheer. After all, I was dressed like jolly ‘ol Santa, I might as well, act like him. No beard or Santa hat, but definitely a cute and stylish red, white and black runner version.

Remember, the lovely couple arriving late to the running party? I spotted them on the course, trying to snap a picture of themselves with the beautiful views behind them.

Tan, tan, tan, tan…

In comes superhero-Santa-runner-Me!

I stop my already slow pace to ask, “Would you like me to take a picture of you?” They smiled and the woman replied, “Sure! Thank you!” They were an adorable couple and  racing buddies… How lovely, right?

I resume, ultra-slow pace and spot a runner who seems to be feeling like me, but instead of speeding up to pass her since narrow road was coming up, again, I slow my pace when she senses me behind her. Why would I do that? Well, if she’s anything like me, when I see runners run past me, I feel even more sluggish, and since we were both sensing unkindness from the the all-terrain course, I decided to let her feel the joy of not having another runner pass her by. Anyway, it was a comfortable pace. But, a few minutes later, all those rainbow colored thoughts were thrown out the door, I have a habit of going all out, full sprint, Des Linden style, as soon as I spot the finish banner. Once I condition myself, it’s tough to veer away.

Major eek….

The time on the finish line clock was well over my usual 5k time (clock was at 40 something minutes), but I had forgotten, I also started way after the clock began ticking. Phew! I’m ok, with having a much slower time than usual, but not that one… Remember, I have Boston dreams.

Who cares about final race time when you are greeted by this lovely table...? Not me, at least not at that moment. I'm blogging about it, so, clearly, a medium size, OK, fine, an xxxx-large part of me cared.

My last and final victim before heading back home to prep for my tamale making/dancing party

I was enjoying a post-race donut when I spotted a runner trying to find the perfect angle to snap a picture of himself with, again, those gorgeous views. I walked over to him and asked if he wanted me to take a picture. He said, “Oh, yes, sure.” Ha.Ha. He thought I had asked him to take a picture of me. When I clarified, he laughed, too, and was appreciative for the offer. See, now he has a picture snapped by a semi-pro photographer. Ha!

Before making my final trek down the trail to my car, I had to take a few pictures of the gorgeous view of Dodger Stadium from the race start and finish location. How did I not know about this place?! I knew the race was Dodger Stadium adjacent, but I was thinking a different park. See, there is always something new to learn about places and people, including, the ones we have known for years.

I think of Gingerbread Baby and Gingerbread Friends by Jan Bret each time I see this medal. Two of my son's favorites when he was younger. I loved reading and acting out those books with him.

 

Deep adoring sigh... Dod-ger... Stadium... You are be-au-tiful from every angle. Perfection.

Two of the culprits for my race-morning chaos. a. the sweater-Santa-leggings (you know that story) and b. sunscreen. How I knew I was running way late that morning: "Weren't you supposed to leave 20 minutes ago?", asked my husband as I returned a second time to apply sunscreen. "Yes.", I answered. "And, you are applying sunscreen , it's cloudy?", he said with a shake of his head and sigh. "I know! But, hello, there will be sun, later and skin cancer doesn't care about weather." In my defense, yes, I delayed by applying sunscreen, but as you can see from the white spots on my legs, I applied in haste, so not a lot of extra time was used up warding off skin cancer, Mr. Stanley... This is the only picture I have of my Santa-ish outfit since my personal photographers were cozy and warm at home.This pic was snapped as I picked up all  hand-held items I dropped when snapping pictures of the views. I was in haste because the kids race was happening and I was blocking the right side of the path as I picked up my dropped items. Y-eah-embarrassing...

Images I was capturing when I dropped everything...

The not-used-during-baseball-season Dodger Stadium entrance next to the race location.

The entrance I thought was next to the race start when I left my home way late. Lesson learned, Ms. Research-everything-but-important-details.

After, another, long drive-I’m home!

“Honey! I found a place with gor-geo-us views of Dodger Stadium and YOU don’t even know about it!, I exclaimed with giddiness. He knows everything… So, it felt awe-some to share new information with him.

No!!!!! As I’m chatting up a storm with my husband, I realize, I forgot the donation bag of shoes in my car. Lack of sleep, haste, and fogged memory from the latter made me forget the most important reason for signing up for that race. I felt terrible, but, they were still donated, so maybe someone closer to my home was in need of those shoes.

Gift from my sister's lovely best friend for our Tamale Making/Dancing Par-ty... Fun. Fun. Fuuuunnnn...

Stop feeling jealous of my Christmas Eve outfit. I can sense the greeness and green is not a good color on you. I know, I know, I'm stylish in running and civilian clothing, so I get why you would be jealous.You are forgiven. My brother-in-law said I looked like a character from That 70's  Show. If you look at my super-cute coat peeking on the left, you can see why, the look is very circa 1970ish... Hence, the 1970's filter to match.

Homemade, de-lectable champurrado made by my multi-talented mom on Christmas Eve to go with a freshly made batch of tamales. I can taste and smell it's gloriousness as I look at the picture. I dare you to find champurrado as good as hers. In fact, I double-triple dare ya...

Guess what the above 3 pictures have in common? You'll never guess..., so I'll tell you. They are all involved in fun, juicy future posts and stories... Par-ty... cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha...

Is it just me or do all you racing-runners experience a little bit of chaos on race day? If so, I’d love to hear some of your stories. If not please, please... share your racing wisdom, I often feel like I'm in an episode of I Love Lucy on race day.