So as you all know I spent last year’s marathon going to work and taking a 2.5 hour lunch break and then leaving early to drink with people who actually ran the race and would be collapsing shortly. I also had one of the greatest encounters of my life with a drunk college student in a hot pink feather boa, who was practically sobbing whilst eating a slice of pizza outside of Pino’s. What could possibly top this???? I’ll give you some hints: Loin cloths, the Freedom Trail and something that looked eerily similar to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters.
Marathon Monday 2011 actually started Sunday afternoon, when my cousin Ray and his girlfriend Malissa got into town. We immediately made a trip to Eagle’s Deli to visit Ray’s sister, Elizabeth, who informed us she simply couldn’t be taken out to dinner because she was on her way to Taco Bell. No, this doesn’t make sense, but it struck me as funny. Anyway…because of Ray’s love of beer and breweries, we ate at the Publick House in Washington Square, which has approximately 117.5 beers on its menu. Highly recommended: Avery White Rascal. Find it here.
At some point in between the Publick House and Coolidge Corner Clubhouse (my favorite sports bar in all of Boston), Ray and Malissa
forced convinced me to play hooky on Monday. I drunkenly emailed my boss to tell him I wouldn’t be in, and I also realized I’ve been doing that a lot lately, and it’s a trend that should probably end.
At Coolidge Corner Clubhouse we met Al, a very tan, older gentlemen in a track suit. It was love at first sight until I realized that the one time I tried to run up Summit Avenue – the steepest hill in Boston – Al, a definite sexagenarian if not a septuagenarian, was the guy running breezily past me as I tried not to vomit on myself. So Al has now become my fiercest rival. A couple of pints of Ben and Jerry’s later and we were camped out in my apartment watching The Kennedys on demand. Winning.
(Marathon) Monday morning we woke up, made ourselves look presentable, watched the elite runners take off at the starting line in Hopkinton and made our way down to Chipotle to carbo-load before the runners got there and we had to be in official cheering mode. I didn’t eat anything (don’t make me tell you the flu/food poisoning story again), but I did buy a cup and pour beer into it in the Chipotle bathroom with Malissa, because that’s what us classy chicks do nowadays. Also, Malissa has never had Chipotle before. It’s like she’s been living in a cave.
Outside in Cleveland Circle, we saw the elite male runners pass, I think the last time the American man was near the lead. I don’t know if you guys know this about me, but I’m a professional road race cheerer. It was one of my minors in college. For my efforts, I racked up three “thumbs ups,” a head nod in my general direction, and praise from a woman who was waiting to run the last 5 miles of the marathon with her friend Christy. On top of that, some guy 20 yards behind me became my cheering doppelganger and said everything I did except 10 seconds later. And, some guy totally pulled his hamstring right in front of me and I screamed “you will NOT stop here…you WILL continue to run,” until he continued to run. There’s a good chance he died somewhere along Beacon Street. But I just wanted him to realize his potential.
After the cheering got a little old, we Frogger-ed it across Beacon Street one at a time and hopped on the C-line train downtown. The 5-mile trip took approximately 1.5 hours. But on a good day it takes about 40 minutes, so this really wasn’t too different. Cruising down Beacon Street at a speed slower than most of the runners, we saw some guy in a loin cloth and no shoes. Not sure if he ran the entire 26 miles in this fashion, but I wouldn’t even walk to CitySide and back with no shoes on, so good for him.
Also on the T, we got to hang with GymIt, a nondescript white puff who is the mascot for a new gym on Comm Ave by BU. GymIt has no eyes, no hands and no feet, but apparently needs a head band because he sweats. He also cannot ride the T by himself, because again, he can’t see. But he can use gym equipment. Am I making myself clear here? GymIt just might be the inspiration for me to name my first born son Gymnasium, calling him Gym. “It’s Gym, with a Y.” I’m so excited about this. I am definitely going to be the worst mother ever.
Downtown, I gave the abbreviated Freedom Trail tour, which includes pointing out places my nana “went critical” when I forced her to do the Freedom Trail in October – Granary Burying Ground, the street corner where she got into a fight with the man in the handicap scooter, and Bruegger’s, where she forced us to eat bagels instead of getting dinner in the North End. Oh, Nana. We ended the tour in Hennessy’s, which is only half-way through the Trail of Freedom, but they were giving out free sweatpants, and I’ll go anywhere they give out free sweatpants.
Unfortunately I couldn’t bail on my job at the YMCA, and it was the championship game of the Monday night league, so I had to be there. I left Malissa and Ray at South Station on their way to the Harpoon Brewery, and I made my way back down Beacon Street, watching the stragglers head in towards the finish line.
After work (the Orange team won, in case you’re wondering), I headed back to Eagle’s Deli to pick up Ray and Malissa, and possibly get a free mozzarella stick or two. As chance would have it, my cousin’s very attractive high school football teammate just happened to be there, and Malissa thought it was the appropriate time (me in gym clothes, him drunk) to set us up. “You should date Kelly. She’s not a lesbian.” Like I say, always lead with your best quality. Thanks for that Malis. Back home, we gorged ourselves with food and fell asleep watching Dancing with the Stars. Can someone please explain the American theme to me? The Comcast blurb insisted it was in honor of Patriot’s Day (someone needs to explain to people in Massachusetts that this holiday doesn’t actually exist outside of New England). End scene.
Another Marathon Monday in the record books, and lots of motivation for my own half-marathon in September (which I think I’ve successfully convinced Ray to run!). Until next year people!