Monday Wrap Ups: In Which A Child Ruined My Thanksgiving

It's been a hot minute since I've updated this space, so I'll quickly get through the wrap ups before tackling the matter at hand.

Number of Miles Run, Week of 11/17: 34.  This was the first week it felt like winter in New York.  I had been considering giving up my gym membership, but of course the first time it got below 30 degrees, I was on the treadmill in my short shorts.  Old habits die hard.  

Number of Beers Consumed, Week of 11/17: Just 3.  Don't worry, I more than made up for that last week...

Types of Beers Consumed, Week of 11/17: NYAC Ale; Bell's Best Brown.

Number of Miles Run, Week of 11/24: 30. I had been planning on a few more, but then I got hungry and forgot.

Number of Beers Consumed, Week of 11/24: 11. Boom. And probably 2 bottles of wine, single-handedly.  'Tis the season.

Types of Beers Consumed, Week of 11/24: Two stadium-sized Bud Lights at the Barclays Center, a Maine Beer Company King Titus Porter, Bell's Best Brown, Stillwater's Brontide Swarzbier (spell check doesn't recognize any of those words), Dogfish Head 60 Minute IPA, Sam Adams Light from my Dad's personal supply, Full Sail Pilsner, and Half Full's Bright Ale.

Number of Hot Dogs Consumed, Week of 11/24: 1.  Back in business, baby!

In addition to warming up the Thanksgiving engines with a hot dog, I also enjoyed incredible mashed potatoes, dressing (some people call this "stuffing," but the idea of stuffing anything into a dead, raw animal is revolting, so, dressing it is), biscuits, and other soothing starches.  This morning, my body was like "vegetables!" but my stomach was like "spinach artichoke dip is a vegetable, right?"  

For reasons unknown (read: drunk), Thanksgiving included a dramatic champagne presentation

While my Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot was a race of one, whereby I raced against the dogs trotting around the arena on the televised National Dog Show from the relative comfort of my parents' basement as the snow fell outside, I did participate in an actual Turkey Trot on Saturday.  After Ryan's triumphant first 5k, she rallied the troops for our hometown Rye Recreation Turkey Run with the promise of post-race brunch.  Eager to prolong my food coma, I eagerly agreed.  So on Saturday morning, TG and I boarded the train back up to Westchester for the race.

(True story: when we were getting our train tickets, TG wanted to walk up to the window and ask for "two tickets to paradise."  It's funny because it's true.  #everythingsbetterinryeny #myglorydayswere15yearsago)

That turkey next to me (the one with the beak; not Rich) didn't smell very good.

Let it be known, the 5k is not my specialty.  In fact, I sort of hate it because you have to run hard for a not short amount of time.  But as the gang stood around before the race, everyone started asking me if I was going to win.  Normally, when people ask if I win races, the answer is no, because, duh.  But back on my home turf, and with enough goading from my friends, I figured I might as well give it a shot.

I lined up close-ish to the start, but when the gun went off, I realized I wasn't nearly as far up as I should have been, the big giveaway  being that the turkey was in front of me.  After very nearly stepping on his plush tail and taking him out, I weaved my way past him.

The 5.2 mile and 5k races start together, so it was hard to gauge where I was in the pack and against whom I was racing.  As I charged up the first hill about a quarter mile into the race, there seemed to be quite a few people around me, all seemingly strong.  Perhaps I had gravely misjudged the caliber of the field.

The pack continued together down Forest Avenue and into Rye Town Park, setting for so many illicit beers and cigarettes from my youth.  In fact, as we sprinted along the beach, fingers freezing, I consoled myself by telling myself I had done this very same sprint so many times in my youth, and this time, I wasn't running from the police.

As we left the park, the 5.2 milers turned left, and I was able to see how many 5k-ers were around me.  I could see about 10 in my direct line of vision, and began picking them off.  I took off two men right away, then coasted down Dearborn and made a right on Milton, where I made a move to take out a woman.  She picked up the pace and held me off as I got beside her, but I didn't let up.  Together, we came to another woman, and I made another move to pass, this time dropping both of them.  I could see 3 more people ahead of me, two women and one guy (boy, really).  I knew the rest of the course was straight and flat until the right turn to the hill and the finish.  I glanced at my Garmin and saw a steady 6:24 pace.  Telling myself I was nearly done, I tried to reel in the next woman.  

As we crossed the street to make the right turn, I could tell I was gaining on her, but knew I might run out of room before I could run her down.  We came up the final hill to the finish line, and her parents, who looked to be about my age, started screaming "MOVE IT, NATALIE!"  As it turns out, I think one of my friends might have been her babysitter growing up, so my self-worth took a beating when I realized I was racing a child.  Anyway, Natalie edged me out, and I finished in 20:47, a second and a half behind her.  (She won the 13-17 age group, and I died a little inside).

As it turns out, I was the third woman, seventh overall, and won my own age group, so naturally, I made all my friends stand around in the cold to watch me receive my medal.  They cheered embarrassingly loudly, and then we all started drinking, which is one perk Natalie can't enjoy.  Sucker!  

1st old person to finish!

I'm sure that's a 5k PR for me, though I don't keep track because again, I hate the 5k, and getting out kicked by a minor certainly doesn't make me like it any more (the first female finisher was also a child, but she's an undergrad (ugh) at my alma mater, Colby College, and so I'm less mad and more proud).

I hope you had enjoyable Thanksgivings!