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bathroom reading

This morning I was looking for my passport because the mister and I are going on a post-Ironman adventure to celebrate my Louisville PR and how he totally demolished Arizona last weekend (10:58 and it was his very first Ironman ever) and the fact it's officially the off-season for both of us so we can eat all the food and drink all the whiskey and attempt to sleep in like normal people.

After scouring the apartment for it, this is where I found it:

Of course.

that only took four years

Because I am an extraordinarily intelligent human being who respects her body and its need for recovery, I did the New York City Marathon three weeks after Ironman. As you can see from my official race photos, I had an absolute blast.

Walk of shame in an unflattering shirt? Nailed it!

My left hamstring was so excited for this race that in the weeks between Ironman and NYCM, it allowed me to run a whopping total of five miles. And I would've deferred the marathon, except I've been deferring it (or it's been deferring me) since 2011. And I was out of deferments. And since I got in via lottery and the chances of ever getting in again are very slim, I told my hamstring to suck it up. (OK, maybe it was more like: "Let's at least get to the starting line, and if this is really awful, then I promise we can get on the subway and go home and eat pizza.") 

The demeanor of a true champion.

Race morning dawned, and Neveia, Margie and I left the apartment we were staying at on the Upper West Side at 6:45 a.m. and squeezed onto the subway.

Then we stood in a huge crowd waiting to get into the ferry terminal.

My fashion choices for this race were spot on.

Then we stood in another huge crowd waiting to get on the boat.

When we got off the boat (which was so crowded we sat on the floor and I tried not to think things like, "What if a previous passenger got seasick right here and now I'm sitting in it?"), there was a huge line to get on some shuttle buses. 

"Being squished is fun!"

It took us three hours to get to the start area. And then we began running at 11 a.m. (Pro tip: If you ever do this race, bring a portable lunch that you can comfortably eat while your face is pressed against a total stranger's back.)

Anyway, I made it to about Mile 14 and was somehow on track for a PR, but then everything about my left leg started hurting. And then I did the run-walk-shuffle thing until Mile 18. And then I just decided to walk. And for awhile, it was fine because I was walking with a random guy named Jerry who was also having problems with his hamstrings, but then around Mile 21 or so, Jerry barfed, and we all know how I feel about barfing, so I said farewell to Jerry. (For the record, there was a lot of barf in this race. The most horrible thing I saw was a woman jamming her fingers down her throat, making herself puke. I wouldn't be surprised if that sight alone was the whole reason Jerry lost his cookies. Because it was pretty disgusting. And hey, now you can have that mental image forever too! You're welcome!)

Walking those final miles was slow and painful and not very fun at all. I amused myself by taking pictures of my favorite signs.

I would like to adopt these people as my own.

Dear random strangers: I love you.

I finished in 5:41:25, for a brand-spanking-new personal worst marathon time!

And then I got in a huge crowd.

On the plus side, Margie qualified for Boston, so we celebrated afterward with some bubbly.

And I did get to eat a pizza (gluten-free of course).

And now I can cross NYCM off of my life bucket list.

P.S. Those are pirate pajamas. And I may or may not still be wearing them as I type this post.