Those Spaghetti Straps Really Bring Out Your Chest Hair

We are clearly ready to run 3 miles.

Q: What could be more fun than running a 5K with Rose?
A: Running a 5K with Rose while dressed up in old prom dresses. 

Awww yeah.  The Red Carpet Run 5K. A time to dress in your finest glam because you are a star for a night! This is a Running Fit event that includes a red carpet, live band, champagne, and paparazzi ready to catch your mug looking fantastic.

Don't worry.  Because true friends "tell it like it is",  Rose has not let me get away unscathed about my socks.  I think really that she's just jealous of my mid-shin ankle socks.  I'm probably buying her some for Christmas.  Also, I was too busy trying to suck it in to take a fun picture.  Since I'm obviously looking super svelte, that plan totally worked. 

I wasn't too concerned about the physical part of this race.  I did a sprint triathlon that ended with a 5K two weeks ago, and that wasn't too hard.  (There may have been some adrenaline coursing through every fiber of my being.  Or maybe it was the pre-race Egg McMufffin.  I don't know.)  But? This race was harder than my triathlon.  In fact, it was harder than my first 5K which pretty much sucked the life out of me.

I know you are all used to my "sunshine and bubbles" personality and it may be a titsch hard to imagine that I can be a whiner, but for realz, it was a hot race in the neighborhood that night.  And I may mention that a time or fifteen during this post.

The Red Carpet Run was a simple little 5K that was just supposed to be fun, but I got it in my head that I wanted to get my first sub 30:00 finish.  My 5K times range from 37:47 (for my very first 5K) to my triathlon 5K portion of 31:18 (my fastest to date).  I have been running for about a year and a half, so this shows how mad fast I have become.  I may soon get to a point where Mama's pushing double jogging strollers aren't passing me. (True story.)

I went out hard when the race started.  I felt great even though it was sick hot, and picked a young woman in a long grey dress with a purple feather boa to pace behind.  (Confession:  I may have picked her because 1. she had unbelievable back muscles, and 2. her boa kept dropping feathers and I felt a bit like Hansel and Gretel following a trail of crumbs to the finish.  This was inspiring because I was thinking of the "house made of sweets" part of H&G, and not the "witch who wants to cook and eat you" part.)  The first part of the run was slightly downhill, so I maintained my pace even when the satin tie-back ribbons on my dress came untied and I had to re-knot them.  Also my brilliantly styled hair fell out after about five minutes, so I threw up a mom ponytail while running and wearing a headband.  (I don't know how I do it, either.  Some of us just have special skill sets.)

Then I don't know what happened.  You know how, when you are running, you think, "I would rather be doing anything else in the entire world than this right now"?  I started to think that around the one mile mark.  I started fantasizing about walking.  Or having a super power that would allow me to say, "Time out," freeze time for everyone else, walk the race, and say, "Time in," as I'm booking it the last 100 yards.  Like Zach Morris.  But I literally was not saved by the bell, so I had to keep moving my feet.  (Those of you who missed the 90's will not understand a word of the last few sentences, and that is a shame.)

On what I was sure had to be mile two (but there was no water station in sight), I finally gave up, walked for ten seconds, and then saw the water station.  I picked up the pace, thinking I could once again catch my lady in grey (whom I was starting to hate a little because she was so young, fit, and effortlessly fast), and maybe still make my sub 30:00 goal.  I got some water (thank you Jesus) and kept going.  For about a half mile.  Then I took two more walk breaks before the end of the race. (Disclaimer:  There is absolutely nothing wrong with walking during a 5K.  I've done it before.  But I was looking to set a personal record (PR) for this race, and it would not be achieved unless I ran my best.  In a dress.)  Somewhere during this time I was all (enter radio friendly Cee Lo), "Forget you," and totally gave up.  My new goal was to not die of heatstroke be too embarrassed of my time.

Hope you enjoyed your Olga bread.
Tonight it's being served with a delicious
side of guilt because I will
continuously remind you that I finished
this race alone.

When I crossed the finish line I was hot, thirsty, and searching for my family.  They were not there.  The super delicious dinner they were consuming inside the nearby air conditioned Olga's restaurant kept them from viewing what ultimately ended up being a historic event.

BECAUSE I ENDED UP RUNNING A SUB 30:00 barely 5K FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!!!!!

Kelly    MI   33   F   29:53.6  9:38/M

In case you didn't catch that, my sahara-like run in a dress that I gave up on mid-way through ended up being twenty-nine minutes and fifty-three seconds. Under thirty, playa's.

What will I do differently next time?  Well, I will go more glam for the dress portion.  I felt so staid in my conservative neutrals next to Rose rocking her light-up blinking tiara and bright blue sequins.

Also, I will ditch the satin tie-backs on my dress (which you can't see in any of the pictures) because they have a tendency to fall into the toilet while you are peeing pre-race, causing you to exclaim, "DUDE!  Really?" to yourself (and also to everyone waiting in line to use the facilities).

I will consider that there may be quite a few cross-dressers participating in the event, and have a response ready for my children's never-ending, "MAMA!  That man is wearing a dress/makeup/wig and he's workin' it better than you!" or "MAMA!  WHY DOES THAT LADY HAVE SO MUCH HAIR ON HER CHEST?"

And finally I will not look at all shocked when I discover that the incredibly fit and hot lady in grey has come in first for her age group, the 50-54 year old set.  WHAAAA?  (I'm officially running forever.)

Because you can't finish a race report about a glamorous run done by a suburban mom without throwing up gang signs.  Or the number two.  Which I actually unconsciously did.  Deuce.