CHICAGO HALF MARATHON
The pix are in! The pix are in! And they're all right here.
(I never even saw the paparazzi hounding me on this race. But they were obviously there.)
And now there's actual photographic proof that I did the damn thing. There's also photographic proof that: 1) I was in a lot of pain and 2) I run like a girl.
Note the heroic stoicism in my eyes, though. You can even see it through my sunglasses.
Also note the old-lady stride I'm struggling to maintain at the finish line. You can almost see the pain radiating, cartoon-like, from my right hip and my right knee.
Also note how small I've become. ACK!
I ran this 10K last night, and the race was such an epic fuckup that the entire course should have been surrounded by crime-scene tape.
• There were 10,000 registered runners. This fact we heard over and over and over ad nauseam from one of the "celebrity" drama-queen judges from "American Idol," who was struggling mightily to sound like an intelligent emcee for the event. I could have lived a full, satisfying life without ever occupying the same ZIP code as any of those self-important morons, and last night I got to hear one blather on and on and on in person before and after the race. Whee.
• There were about 20 people running the gear check -- which made for a 45-minute wait standing elbow-to-asshole in line with a large percentage of the abovementioned 10,000 runners and all their lumpy backpacks. Good thing I got there 50 minutes before the run. Too bad I really wanted to stretch before I took off running 6.2 miles on an injured knee and hip.
• They blocked off one lane of Lake Shore Drive for the leg of the race that was on the Drive. One lane. (I remind you: 10,000 runners.) And there were tons of cars whizzing by us in the adjacent lanes. And there was a fucking COP parked in our lane yelling at us not to stray into the traffic lane. (Note to stupid cops: We're not as dumb as you are. We don't run into obviously heavy traffic. And we know better than to park our cars in the middle of the only (and already heavily congested) designated runner lane. You suck and I hate you.)
• The finish-line food consisted of: water, apples and trail mix. (Food people: You suck and I hate you.)
On the Jake-isn't-always-an-angry-old-queen front, the entertainment aspect of the run was cool -- and it kept us runners motivated almost every step of the way. There were stages set up about every mile with one-hit bands from the ’80s rockin' hard as the runners cruised by. And there was a huge concert at the finish line featuring DEVO, who whipped it good.
On the Jake's-a-social-misfit front, though, I didn't recognize half the bands (Dramarama? General Public?), and I didn't recognize ANY of the songs they were playing. But I found endless amusement in the fact that this had to be the LAMEST gig these bands have ever played -- they were literally out in the middle of nowhere in the dark playing to a relatively sparse moving crowd that heard about 2 minutes of anything they did. Whee.
Now I'm back in recovery mode, with an ice pack around my knee and a huge (read: Elvis-sized) gold finisher medal just begging for a place to be displayed. Other than that hairy patch of chest peeking out of my unbuttoned shirt, I mean.