Sunday, March 14, 2010


Some habits are hard to break. Or is it that some habits are hard to start. I do believe I wrote something about updating my blog in between events….oh well. It’s Shamrock Season already!

To celebrate the loss of an hour of sleep, we got up well before dawn to join the 20,999 other people who are inclined to spend a Sunday running around Portland. Dressed in Green. The 2010 Shamrock Run was the total opposite of 2009 which was a monsoon complete with screaming wind, biting rain and running shoes that took a week to dry. 2010 was cold, crisp, clear and a perfect morning for a run with your friends.

Since this was my 2nd year, I thought I had the lessons down pat. Pee first, run second. Carry the tiny camera. Ditch the hat, but tie back the hair. That was the plan. It took us much longer to get into town this year since the train wasn’t running as often for some crazy reason. And since we had been waiting for so long, we jumped on the first train that came along. Unfortunately this was NOT the train that runs next to the course. Who knew? When did they put in THAT set of tracks? At least we weren’t alone. Standing room only, elbow to nose. I’m short. Once we stopped it was a mad dash down to the race start, stopping at the honey bucket along the way. As we neared (NEARED) the porta-potty, heard them start the countdown for the race. So instead of getting to pee, had to get my extra clothes off and run back to the staging area. As I ditched my clothes, also forgot all about the tiny camera and something to tie back my hair. Check out this hair:

In spite of my planned zen-like start gone awry and once again running on a full bladder, I had a FABULOUS run, uh, joggle. I set no speed records, but I kept my wiggle on the whole way. Nearing the top of the Broadway Miserable Mile (uphill then a little more uphill, rewarded with some more uphill) I almost gave in. Was THIS CLOSE to taking a little breather, figured no one would even notice if I walked just a tiny tiny bit to catch my breath (heart rate 170)….when a little person passed me. Maybe 7 years old. With legs MUCH shorter than mine. Sigh, huff, puff, motor on. I think I saw a buzzard up above circling, but I faked him out. Decided to carry on, not become carrion. Then came the downhill dash to the finish. Well, dash might be too strong a word. Once again, the husband was on hand to prove that I made it on my own two legs:

With a race of this size and starting in the back of the pack, even a pokey puppy like me has to maneuver around and through people and sometimes feels like you’re going so slowly that you’re running in place. Not complaining, however. It’s a great morning when you see such a wide variety of regular folks out doing something good for their bodies and good for their souls. When I was younger, it never even crossed my mind to do this running thing unless I was chasing after the ice cream truck or running away from responsibility. Now that I am old, hoping to show others my age that it can be done. We don’t have to give away our mobility. We don’t have to stand on the sidelines and watch. We can be the movers, shakers, doers. And trust me, I get lots of shaking going on. And there are rewards: