Another Half Marathon Bites the Dust

This past Sunday was long awaited, and one literally long sweat over too. It's been more than three months since I've arranged my life around a schedule which accommodates half marathon training - squeezing in 10 mile runs on Christmas Day, and hitting the unfamiliar streets of San Francisco for an eight miler over a weekend visit. A personality like mine doesn't take well to missing days of predetermined training, or doing things not according to schedule. But even so, I found when the PF Chang's Rock N Roll Arizona Half Marathon arrived on my doorstep this past weekend, it was a mix of shock and bewilderment - a "how is it here already?" - and also, great excitement met with intense pressure.

On race morning, all of these emotions seemed to have settled into my stomach as I waited behind 10 racers for the porta potty, and simultaneously, as I heard the gun sound, releasing the first racer corral. I was in Corral Six, but of course, wasn't in place since I was waiting for the slowest bathroom occupants known to mankind to do their business. What is taking these ass holes so long in there? I actually scanned the area for any Plan B possibilities - anything larger than me should suffice. But no, there were people everywhere. I'd never make it out unscathed. Several agonizing minutes later and facilities serviced, I was a panicked, frantic woman joining my corral seconds before they released us into the half marathon abyss. I snapped a quick overhead shot, and as the crowds thinned, eased into a jog.

Not the best way to start a race.

I had convinced myself the cold was my biggest hurdle for this race, and yet no more than one mile in, I was flinging my gloves off in the general direction of the homeless spectators. Another half mile, and a less than elegant attempt to unwind myself from my scarf resulted in my headphones being ripped from my ears. Again, I launched the scarf into the sea of anxious homeless recipients' hands, stuffed the earbuds back into my ears, reacquainted myself with my brilliantly selected start song - Eminem, Lose Yourself - and at last, put my race face on. (For those of you that know me, and have seen me run - this is a real face.) How had I become so convinced that I'd freeze? It's Phoenix, RB.

The majority of the next two hours were a blur. I remember course-side bands, high school cheerleaders building pom pom tunnels, hills, flourescent tutus and otherwise inappropriate race attire, beaming spectators with glittery signs and the glory of the first sight of the finish line.

While this might have been my second half marathon, it was the first undertaking I embarked upon alone. An overly social creature I indeed am, this was quite the achievement. The goal time was 2:00.00, and I couldn't have hit it closer - finish time of 1:59:24.

More pictures to ensue. It's quite safe to say my running days are just getting started.

High Speed Chases Are a Girl's Best Friend

Disclaimer: Mom, dad and otherwise concerned citizens might stop here. Post contains recount of stalker material and a generally disturbing narrative.

Let's be honest - I'm no stranger to stalkers. Give me a perverted elderly man in a wheelchair, or an Iranian college drop out (who ultimately... was deported from the country and somehow snuck back in), and I'd shrug and say, "been there, done that." But it's been a while. And so, just when I got to trusting human kind again, in enters the mustang stalker.

I've been training for the half marathon by myself this year. The concern has never really been safety, but whether or not I'm competent to physically push and challenge myself to train faster, harder, etc. Entering into week five of a 12 week training schedule, so far it's proved to be fine, and on this particular afternoon I was pacing faster than I had on any previous runs this year. I was feeling unstoppable. My Pandora station was set to the angry-girl music I've grown accustomed to tuning into lately, and after an insane day in the office, the sheer awareness of running as fast as I could had never felt more divine. I was in the zone - a personally challenging destination for me to arrive. 

Rounding out mile four, I noticed a vehicle creeping alongside me. You're running alongside a lake RB. Maybe the guy's looking at the ducks. Not losing my focus. The Cranberries queued up on the station, and I pressed on. Except... my left peripheral detected the car was continuing to pace with me, and as I looked left to confirm, I noticed a gentleman rolling down the window of his orange mustang and looking directly at me, smiling from ear to ear. He didn't try to duck behind a barrier or pretend to look away when I made note of him either. Gross. Not sure what's more disturbing - his decision to drive an orange mustang or the Cheshire Cat grin he was offering up. 

No matter. Today's run was a personal record, and I wasn't going to let some orange mustang-driving cheese ball slow me down. He noticed my disregard, and pulled into the nearest parking spot ahead. Before he could exit, I had flown past him, and he was in the dust. Bye bye, orange creepy.

I powered through the remainder of the run, successfully achieving my PR for the year, only to find the creeper parked directly across from my car. How did he know which car was mine? It's OK. There are plenty of people around and you're probably being paranoid. He leaned casually against the side of his car, middle-aged, medium build, Indian or some Middle Eastern descent, and sporting an offensively matching orange top. He was openly staring at me now. Unlucky for him, there was a gentleman stretching adjacent to my car and for whatever reason, he it was clear he wasn't approaching with him present. I cooled off, keeping one eye on orange creep, and the other on my stretching savior. No more than a few seconds, the stretching man hopped up, and Mr. Orange moved in.

"So... are you tired?" he shouted across the way.

I was perched on the trunk of my car, and I practically fell on my face jumping down and running around to the driver's side. "In a hurry - bye!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. There was no disguising the interaction and I wasn't going to play coy. Doors locked. I glanced in my rear view mirror and found Mr Orange sprinting back to his car. I realized what was happening, and simultaneously accepted the challenge at hand. It was almost like I had been waiting for this challenge my whole life. He was going to chase me and I had to engage in losing him. Peeling out of the parking lot he followed a bit back. First mistake, Mr. Two quick turns, swerves and flooring thrills through yellow lights and he was gone. Well... that didn't take much.

I sped most of the way home just in case. And now I find myself a little bit on edge, but nothing crazy. Maybe this is for the good. No harm done, and a dangerous high speed chase under my belt. WIN.

Perhaps time to choose another running trail, and possibly even a high powered pepper spray. #BewareSuspiciousLookingMenofAZ