Starting line: "Dude, it's, like, cold." The temperature hovered at about 40 degrees for the duration of the race, forcing many to don less-than-flattering exercise wear. Sparkly leg warmers, acrylic (a.k.a. plastic) mittens and a variety of unfortunate head gear were in wide use.
1K: "Count the number of people you pass and subtract the number of people who pass you, and we'll compare scores at the finish line." I don't see how this could have been doable, given that the race was probably two dozen racers deep from curb to curb. I guess it could have been a fun mechanism to employ to forget the chill, but then you would have missed the scenery.
The course began at 3rd and Boulder, stretched south to 15th, turned west to Denver, south again to Riverside Drive, east to the 23d Street Bridge, west back to Denver, up what I heard someone call "Murder Mountain" toward the BOK Center. Who would want to miss a chance to see all the parking lots - I mean, historic buildings - along the way?
Perhaps the more challenging game would have been to see who could count the most empty parking spaces on the south part of the course.
2K: "I wouldn't exactly call that motivational music." A band of kilted men playing bag pipes cheered us on about half way through the race. While it quickened my Irish blood, lots of folks were jonesin' for some rock and roll.
Two years ago, the last time I ran Tulsa Run, speakers blaring the Rocky theme were set up a little before the half-way mark. I was laughing so hard I could barely keep up with my friend Sarah, who picked up and moved away earlier this year and left me to run this year's race by myself. Alone. And cold. And sleepy.
I don't think she would have wanted to join me this year, anyway. I ditched her last year because I was too busy rounding out my second trimester, and she's doing just about the same thing this year. We don't think a fetus takes well to jostling - at least, not the first fetus. Maybe by the time we're pregnant with our third children, we'll be good and over all of that.
3K: I don't remember hearing anyone say anything interesting during this part of the race, but Tulsa county commission District 2 candidate
Karen Keith gave me a cup of water. Thanks, Karen.
4K: "Oh, crap." *puff puff* "Maybe if this hill had been at the beginning of the race, I could have done it." *wheeze wheeze* "Without this hill, maybe this would actually be a run."
Wimps. If I made it up the hill on Denver between Riverside Drive and 15th Street, anyone can. Seriously. I had a baby earlier this year, an event for which I gained a cool 50 pounds, and though it's all off now, I'm by no means a lean, mean, running machine. Still, I can definitely see why the racers heading up the hill were gasping, "Good luck on the hill!" at the slower among us gliding down toward the turnaround at the bridge.
Yeah, so I saw spots and leprechauns in the parking lot at QT, but I made it up the hill, dang it.
Finish: "Natasha Ball!" "waaaahhh!" When the announcer said my name, Aaron cheered for me from the sideline. It was all too much for our baby boy, who screamed his head off with fear rather than excitement.
That's fine. His punishment is that he has to run with me next year, and I'd better not hear any nonsense about shorter legs, smaller lungs, just having learned to walk earlier in the year, blah blah blah.
This year's race was great. Lots of fun, lots of excitement. It's definitely a great way to show off downtown.
I'll post my results later. I was too busy grabbing bottles of water and a half-dozen candy bars, all free to the runners, after the race to check my official race time.
Hey, at least we can say I never made my motivation a mystery.
From Kupcakz, 71st and Mingo. We came out of the bakery with four cupcakes but, well, you know, things...happen, especially around here, and particularly when cupcakes are involved. What was left: Boston Dreamer (inspired by my favorite birthday cake, Boston cream pie) on the left, and the ones on the right are the Morning Buzz (chocolate and coffee - what could go wrong?) and My Peanut Buttercup (the chocolate and peanut butter combo done right) cupcakes. I can't remember which was which, but they were both gone about 2.5 seconds after I took this photo. Because they were delicious and sinful and said my name and fives lines from Prufrock. Unlikely but true, maybe.
Our little (?) man visiting Santa at Utica Square. Can you believe it? He didn't cry! He didn't even wimper. He was more stone-faced than is usually typical of him, but I don't blame him one iota. The whole concept of a giant man dressed in red hanging out in a miniature house with a lady armed with a camera and photo printer makes me feel a tad uneasy, too, and I probably look stone-faced when I'm thinking about it.
