In 2015, Team
WestEnders did a race called Four on the Fourth—which, as the name suggests,
covered 4 miles rather than our usual 5K, and took place on Independence Day.
Last year we were in Seattle for the holiday, and missed it. But we’ll be in
town for July 4th, 2017, so we broached the subject of participating
in it again with the kids, as a potential “fun-filled family activity”…or what
have you.
And lemme
tell ya, the response was LESS than what you’d call…enthusiastic…or even receptive….or
anything else that can be construed as “positive”,
for that matter. There was immediate backlash from the older son, who made an
exasperated noise and huffed, “Really?
We’re gonna be THAT family?” Um…that depends…which
one are you talking about, dear? “You know, the one that gets up EARLY on a
HOLIDAY to go RUN!” Since he’d so eloquently cleared that up, I was able to
cheerfully reply, “Oh! Well then YES—yes, we ARE that family!” Riley’s response
was a much more succinct and plaintive, “Ugh. Noooo!...do we have to?”
I pointed out
to the lazy teenage slugs—I mean
“beloved offspring”—that since it’s their Summer break, they have the privilege
of sleeping in most days anyway, so
it shouldn’t be any kind of a hardship
to drag themselves out of bed ONCE. Somehow, they were unmoved by my calm, cool
logic, however.
But…then I
started thinking about how I’ve been able to keep running these days only with
varying degrees of determination…and difficulty. Honestly, my knees grudgingly
consent to pound the pavement for 3-ish
miles, but would most likely rebel…probably
in a verrrry unpleasant fashion…if I demanded more out of them at this point. So the upshot was: I brightened the
kids’ day considerably be conceding
the issue, and instead began looking around for a substitute (because, you know, “foregoing races completely” is just
not an option…)
What I found
was a new offering called (wait for it) the VegFest 5K. It was the right
length, it was local, and the
participant t-shirt they showed on the website depicted a trio of…running vegetables! Say no more, I’m IN!
I even got Husband to agree to tag along with me, although you can scarcely
imagine the amount of eye-rolling and mockery that the children heaped on us
for joining a race that appeared to be entirely supported by eco-friendly, organic, vegan sponsors.
(Yes! MY TRIBE….y’all!)
That’s how we
found ourselves making the short trip to Southern Village early this past
Sunday—with one groggy, silent individual (Guess who? Yeah, that was easy,
wasn’t it?) and one annoyingly chatty and chipper dude. (Seriously, Husband is
SUCH a morning person—aren’t they awful?
I mean, when you can’t have coffee
because you’re going to be exercising
just a few short minutes after your eyes open? There should be a rule that they have to be quiet and leave us alone! Or is that just me? Whatever….sure, I’m awake NOW…)
Anyway, this
was the…first rehearsal, if you will…of
this event--and boy, did it show. Mind you, everything LOOKED good—with many vendors setting up their displays with
lots of interesting products to
peruse after the workout portion of the day was completed. The organizers had
encouraged folks to come in costume,
and a few took them up on the challenge, which is why we found ourselves
mingling with a teenaged pineapple…a tutu-d watermelon…a young carrot…and an eggplant
guy who had the further audacity to bring his (plainly dressed, thank
goodness) dog along for the festivities.
And things
went well….that is, right up until the first
turn (um, that would be approximately 30
seconds out of the proverbial gate. Before that, whew, it was smooth
sailing!) The volunteer who was supposed
to be pointing out the route initially signaled for us to continue down the wrong street, before checking his GPS
and correcting himself. (Later, Husband would note that we should have known how things would turn out, based
on that inauspicious start…hindsight,
man…sigh…)
Then at
around 1.5 miles, there was an obstacle—what I can only describe as the
Everest of this particular
neighborhood: a steeeeep, loooong hill that I initially made a valiant attempt
to scale at a jogging pace, but
finally had to admit was only realistically conquerable by walking. (In my mind, I rallied my spirit with something along the
lines of “I may not have defeated the *&%$ mountain, but I WILL win the
war—ahem…”finish the race”!) But wait, it gets worse: because of a lack
of support personnel lining the
route—or even directional signs,
which would have been sufficient and appreciated—there were few people keeping
you on track, so I, and the pack of people I happened to be with, made an
erroneous turn…and faced that same stupid
incline AGAIN! (Yeah, didn’t even try
to pretend to run up it the second
time…)
Finally, to
add (further) insult to (fortunately only metaphorical) injury, there was
absolutely no instruction about what
to do around mile 2.5, so the whole
horde of us went…unintentionally rogue…without
even being aware of it. Nope, we just
kept plugging along…until I finally looked at my phone’s stopwatch, because my
legs felt like lead and I was 100% out of gas, and saw that 33 minutes had
passed. Now, even WITH some slow periods, this falls well outside the bounds of when I should have finished…and the end was nowhere in sight…which led me to the irrefutable conclusion that we
were collectively lost.
About that
time we spotted a police officer who was directing stragglers, and queried him
about how to…reacquire…the race HQ. “Do you want to stick to the course?” he
politely asked, to which we chorused a resounding, “No, thank you! We’ll take the shortest
distance, thankyouverymuch!” (At this point I was so tired and discouraged
that my mantra became: I just have to
come in ahead of that one woman…wearing
a potato outfit. I will NOT lose to a
spud! I might have been becoming delirious, you think? Eh, it kept my
feet moving…) Thus I hauled myself wearily over the Finish Line without even
bothering to check my official time, since I’d obviously traveled beyond the prescribed
3.1 miles. When I caught up with Husband, he commented that he’d experienced
virtually the same scenario…but was so irritated by the whole snafu that he’d ignored the Finish Line altogether.
So, not what
I’d call an altogether well
conceptualized…or well planned…shindig.
But there were a few perks to
brighten things up, due to the aforementioned businesses who shared their wares
with the hot, tired…mildly disgruntled…public. Such as: samples of creamy,
delicious cashew-based “ice cream”…giveaways
of organic energy bars and gluten-free vegan cupcakes…and some homemade truffles that were quite
possibly the BEST little bites of chocolate I’ve ever put in my mouth. When you’ve checked off your physical activity—and racked up your 10,000 steps—for the day by 9 a.m., and you’re rewarded with treats
like those? There are definitely
worse ways to start a Sunday. Besides…then you’re free to go home, relax, and
at long last enjoy your delayed COFFEE…yaaaaay!
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