The Rock n Roll Half-Marathon in New Orleans on the 13th of February started off no different than most. I had an early flight from DC to Metairie and a shuttle ride to my hotel. I decided to use the shuttle to the hotel and then again to the airport on Monday morning for the crack-o-dawn flight that would get me back home by 9:30 am. I almost fainted in the airport when the shuttle lady told me my return to the airport for my 6:am flight would pick me up at 3:15 am. Holy running blisters. I would have to be up at 2 am. So, being the adult I am, I groused a bit and paid for the return shuttle shaking my head the entire time.
I boarded the shuttle for the stop and drop to my hotel, which, by the way, was the last of the drops and I was not the least disappointed when they pulled up in front of my quaint hotel: Le Richelieu http://www.lerichelieuhotel.com/ My room was not ready so I stowed my gear and hit the streets. The first order of business was the expo and then lunch. I was going to take the cable car but decided to walk the approximate 2 miles to the convention center. I wanted to enjoy the beautiful weather and soak in The Big Easy: a town of many fond memories.
My niece, Dr. Johnson, had posted on Face Book earlier in the day that she was heading to a closed head trauma seminar in Tampa and I chuckled to see that her Physical Therapy folks were having the same seminar (among others) at the convention center. A quick snap of a photo, tagging her, made my day and she responded that it was only fitting that the PT pros were in town to coincide with the marathon. I headed to the running expo to retrieve my runner’s packet. My packet included my bib (running number) T-shirt and a bag of goodies and coupons. After wandering the expo and eating a few high-energy snacks my tummy told me it was time for lunch.
I was famished and walked to my favorite restaurant in town: Red Fish Grill. Now many will flame back at me to brag of others. Believe me, I know and love many eateries in New Orleans, but I just have a real affinity for Red Fish Grill. I have dined there many times over the years with friends and it resonates with good memories. Perhaps the memories are better than the food, but isn’t that what dining with friends is about? One remembers a bad meal with good company and never visits the establishment again. But, good food with good friend seems like the perfect combination.
I had a wonderful lunch of flash fried buffalo-sauce-covered oysters at the Red Fish Grill. While eating lunch, Mardi Gras World had a quick parade down the street including a jazz band with umbrella carrying members. It was a fun few minutes. I continued enjoying my meal, and perused the menu: decided the pasta special was just what I needed to carbo-load for dinner. For me, two visits to RFG in one day was perfection.
I decided to head back to the hotel and unload my gear and I wanted to relax by the pool that beckoned in the courtyard. I wanted to enjoy the sun and relax before the pounding of the street the next morning. I had a leisurely stroll back through the quarter and followed the police as they began to set up that barricades to block off Bourbon Street for the night’s craziness.
I officially checked in, dropped my gear and headed poolside to relax. It was cool, but the sun was beating on my upturned face and I shut my eyes to savor the moment. A couple plopping down poolside with their expo packs and cocktails briefly interrupted my Zen moment. Courses, they had cocktails and I was adhering to my no alcohol before a run rule. Sometimes, I hate my rules!
I played some games on my phone and Face Booked until the sun started to set and it got a bit too chilly to stay any longer. I headed to my room and freshened up for my dinner at Red Fish Grill. What a difference a few hours makes. The sun was down and the spirits were up. Happy hour had been raging for a few hours and already there were “stumblers” on Bourbon Street. I’m not judging! I had a hand grenade or two back in the day and I have done the Bourbon Street stumble. For once it was nice to be the gawker. I truly enjoyed my stroll. I popped into the Voodoo Shops, marveled at the Silver and Gold men posing for dollars and the Flava Flav mimicker. Yup, a typical night on the street. I was snapping photos and adding my commentary and finally got to RFG. It WAS packed. So, I was stalking a seat at the bar and had a wonderful time connecting with runners from across the US. I met a cute couple that had also run the San Antonio and Arizona race. We had a good time exchanging stories and drat, I did not get their names or photos.
I finally got a seat from a couple that had been on a cruise. They were from Canada and finally coughed up their seats. We chatted a bit. They were headed to Tampa from NOLA and asked for some restaurant suggestions. Nice folks, again no names or photos. Where was my reporter, blogger head? Damn…missing good stuff for the blog as the minutes passed by. They I chatted with the physicians from California, also on a cruise and the young and drunk Aggies came in to the bar. Crap…still no photos. I am kicking myself to this day. Ahhh, youth…drunk, cute, and hitting on me…gotta love a drunk economist wanna be.
I enjoyed my marvelous lobster and shrimp pasta and headed back to my hotel. Bourbon Street was packed, the noise level had pumped up to deafening and the crazy drunk girls were traveling en masse. So, rhetorical question…why is it the drunk, plump, probably low self esteem young lady tapping on or about the age of 21 decided to pull her shirt above her head and expose her very large, saggy, stretch marked breasts and belly for a set of beads costing approximately ten cents to be thrown from the balcony above????? To this moment, and it has been more than a week, I cannot erase that from my mind: both for the shear humiliation and the unattractive view. Jeesus…sometimes I just shake my head. Welcome to Bourbon Street!
Now, don’t think me a prude. I don’t judge. I was sad for this young lady. I wondered what she might think when sobering up in the morning. I can assure you, there was more than one picture snapped of the incident, and probably not her first or last of the night. If I stayed there longer, I would have seen dozens of the same types of occurrences time and time over, by many a drunk young lady, either prostrating herself, being helped by friends, or encouraged by the gents on the balconies tossing the cheap beads. Ahhh youth!
So, I wended myself back to the hotel and began to arrange my running gear for the early morning run, when much to my chagrin I realized I was under socked. Dang, one pair of my running socks, but not the socks I wanted. What to do? The Expo was more than closed, but Holy Running Blisters Batman, the Walgreens was just a few blocks away. So, off I went in search of some socks.
I made my way to Walgreens and purchased some socks and headed back to the hotel. I was confused and a bit turned around, so instead of heading to my hotel I took the exact opposite direction. Finally, I realized I was a long way off so, I turned around and decided to run back to the hotel. I had a good 2-mile jog back, but it was a good jog because it helped me to run off the jitters about the race. I was full of my usual race excitement, which has a tendency to keep me up the night of the race. But, different time zone, full belly and a 2-mile jog did the trick. I slept like a kitten.
I was up just before my alarm and grabbed my Mardi Gras Dress. I’d picked up a cute purple dress in Arizona and I figured, coupled with a bright yellow shirt I’d run in the colors of Mardi Gras. I put on two pairs of the new socks and noticed they were a little fatter than my usual socks, so I loosened my laces a bit and headed to the lobby to order a cab.
The lobby was bustling with the runners milling about. Some had their own vehicles and others had ordered cabs for the three-mile ride to the start line. I too took a cab. I figured I had 13.1 miles ahead of me and I could damn well ride to the start.
With the cab ordered, I began to look at my fellow runners. There was a mix of full, half, and relay marathoners chatting in small groups. One group in particular caught my attention because one of the gents was dressed in a plaid button down shirt, kaki hiking pants and some sort of low cut brown shoe. He had a marathon bib on and I assumed he would be changing into lycra and spandex at the start village. Another gent with him was dressed more appropriately and had an interesting brown shirt of some sort with what looked to be an African design on it. They also had a petite woman with them who too I believe sported a marathon bib. Who am I to judge? She looked like a small white woman Kenyan.
Cabs arrived and the runners dispersed. I was whisked away and dropped a few blocks from the start and I went through the normal routine: check my gear bag at the UPS trucks and find my way to my starting corral. I did move up a few corrals; I always do. It doesn’t give me any edge on the competition, but it can allow me to start 15 to 20 minutes sooner. So, sooner start; sooner done. As with all corrals, the chit chat goes back and forth with strangers. Questions like: where you from, how long you been running, how may half’s? Many of the questions are prompted by shirts of previous runs. So, the gent standing next to me had the Marine Corp Half Marathon shirt from last May. Small world. He is from Alexandria. He ran Arizona and San Antonio and he and I had apparently run a half dozen races together throughout DC, VA, and Maryland, and our paths cross in NOLA. I love the randomness.
Suddenly the Star Spangled Banner quiets the crowd and the race is off. We work up to the start and suddenly our feet are pounding, our pulses are racing, and the long run begins. It was a cold morning and I was warmed by gear that would be discarded along the route as I warmed up. I was having a good time. There was a ton of supporters along the route and their constant words of encouragement shouted randomly really do make a difference. So, if you have never: go to a race and cheer on the runners. It really is good fun on a Sunday morning.
One of my most favorite memories of the race was my approach to Magazine Street with the elderly gent on the sidewalk with his big oversized blue and white umbrella. He was dressed very dapper and rooting in a very demure sort of way and I thanked him for coming out. Then to my delight, I headed left on Magazine as we traversed the Garden District and on the right hand corner was the lovely wine bistro where David Taylor, Nancy Bolcar, and I had shared a few glasses of wine several years ago. Warm memories flooded over me and I gave a wink and a smile hoping they both felt a little cosmic tingle.
The Garden District on foot is a beautiful tour. The homes are lovely and much like folks say about golf and being able to play in beautiful locations. Running the marathon is no different. I have enjoyed many beautiful towns as a result of my running. We had run about a mile and up ahead I saw the umbrella man. He was supporting a runner somewhere in my vicinity and would root the runner on, head to his car and move to the next mile marker. I kept chatting at him and remarking that he ran very fast considering he had on loafers and was carrying the umbrella. It got to the point that he would shout a “howdy” to me each mile long before I could reach out to him.
Then the runners split. Half to the right; full to the left, and I saw him no more. Apparently he had a full marathoner in the pack. So, both sets of runners converged a little further up the road, but we were running opposite sides of the highway. We were rounding the turn to storm the Quarter and I noticed a group of supporters with signs rooting on their Aunt Michele. Their signs were rooting her on for her 26.2-mile run. OMG…they were on the side of the half-marathon and would never see Aunt Michelle. I cut over and trotted up to them to explain that Aunt Michelle would be on the other side. Though they were happy to know that, one of the girls pointed out they had been standing there for over an hour and no on had explained that to them.
I really felt sad that they might have missed Aunt Michele. Trust me, having sideline support is a fabulous feeling. It is a fleeting moment to hear a friend, lover, family member, or co-worker shout our your name. Sometimes it is the one moment that lifts your spirit and makes you push on in a tough run. I run most of my races alone. I have run 2 races where good friend have accompanied me and I have to say. Seeing them at the finish and hearing the encouraging words has make an indelible mark on my running soul. Don’t misunderstand that last comment. I run with friends. I just don’t have folks on the sideline.
We were storming the Quarter and the end would soon be in sight and I saw it. The Tiger. Not necessarily the LSU Tiger, but a tiger all the same. I was after all wearing LSU colors and I made the decision to stop for a photo. I catch grief from friends for running and texting and stopping for photos, but I have come to the conclusion, that it is my race and I’ll run it how I want to. So, my races take a little longer, but I snap some funny photos, which are great memories for me. Appropriately, the Tiger was holding a guitar. Rock n Roll on my Tiger friend!
As is the norm for me; I gave Patti Busque her 10-mile salute and continued on my way. Only three more miles to go: a cakewalk. I was approaching mile 11 when I realized one of my toes was unhappy. Crap, my new socks had defeated me. I was running a blister on a toe. I’ve never blistered in a race and I had ignored the first rule of marathoning. Change nothing on race day. I should have run with the socks I traveled with. Lesson learned. So, I was catering to my toe a bit and backed off my pace. That is when I met Chandler who was running to my left. A few words of pleasantries and I learned she lived in Stafford, Virginia. Small world again!
We paced together a bit and I moved ahead and then the horror of the day happened. A woman to my right was running a little woozy like and she dipped her front right toe. Her toe dragged the road surface and she caught herself. I hollered to ask if she was ok and reached out to steady her and she lost her balance before I could grab her and she pitched headfirst to the ground. She rolled over and sat up as I heard a young lady calling out to her. It was her daughter and I was sickened for both of them to see the magnitude of her mom’s injuries. She had split her chin open and gashed an eye. She was bleeding very badly and blessings above, the medics were standing right there.
We had less than two miles to go. I started to cry a little because I was really sad that their fun day running had come to a sudden and sickening end. We were still separated from the full marathoners and I ran another half-mile only to see a full runner lying prostrate on the ground and being attended by several other runners. I knew help was most likely on the way and continued my run, but not without a pit in my stomach. Every runner shares stories of the course. I have not run a race yet where I have not witnessed a runner in distress. That alone is distressing. I feel blessed that I’ve run safe and avoided an unfortunate fall. I hope that my luck continues or in the words of Elden Monday, “trust in your training.”
With the fallen runners behind me I began to hear the noise of the finish. Suddenly my feet felt lighter and my spirits soared. I was going to finish yet another half marathon. There was the 13-mile marker dead ahead of me, and around the bend was the finisher’s chute. I don’t know what possessed me but I began to scream at the top of my lungs. I was so full of endorphins that I was hollering at no one in particular, I was just happy to be finishing healthy and adding another bling to the collection. There is actually more to it that the bling. There is some primal feeling that wells up inside me that I made the trip, got up and ran a half marathon. I enjoyed it, snagged some good photos and have a fond memory to reflect back on: that is until the next race!
I got my bling, grabbed some food and headed to UPS so I could get out of my shoes and into sandals. Holy Running Blisters. I was blistered on the bottoms of most of my toes. Damn new socks. Damn stupid me for wearing them. Lesson learned. Change nothing. I got it! I looked around for the beer tent where I could retrieve my free beer and decided that the walk to the shuttle was closer and so, opted to head back to the hotel. I was pleasantly surprised when Chandler from Stafford Virginia caught up to me and we walked to the bus together. As we chatted about past races and experiences she mentioned that she works for the Marine Corp Marathon organization.
Holy MCM! We had a ball, swapped numbers and laughed about the fun I had with my VIP Credentials at this years MCM. I have yet to call and tell her that I just registered for my first marathon. The MCM 2011. Yup; only fitting I run my first and only marathon in my hometown!
I was in no mood to walk back to my hotel from the shuttle drop, so I hailed a cab and got door-to-door service. I walked straight through the lobby to the pool in the courtyard, ordered a Bloody Mary on my way out and dunked my poor sore tootsies in the freezing cold pool. I was tempted to jump all the way in, but I was saved the polar bear plunge by the arrival of my cocktail. Nectar of the Gods, liquid pain relief and bring me another thank you very much!
And then the fun began. There was a couple sitting at a table and they began to ask if I’d run and I joined them to finish my drink. I met Gay and Whip Baudin from Baton Rouge. They have a condo in the Quarter on Royale Street and had come to town for the Mardi Gras Ball for the Krewe of Endymion. Another round of drinks appeared and least I seem ungrateful I graciously accepted another Bloody Mary. We were passing pleasantries when the plaid shirt-kaki shorts guy appeared.
I asked him how his run was and he said he met his goal and had run 15 miles. Hmmm…the full is 26.2 and the half 13.1 so it begged the question. What race did you run? I asked his name and he told me he is Tom Butler. He said that his brother Bob’s fiancé, Aimee Finley had trained for the half-marathon and that as she trained his brother decided to run the half with her. Bravo! Apparently there is some heavy sibling rivalry, so Tom, not to be outdone signed up for the full marathon and ran it without training. Thus, the unique running gear. He pointed out that at the 15 mile mark he had beat his brother who had run the half, so he pulled out of the race. Note to readers, brother Bob had not trained either, in fact mom, who is named Judy, had no training and managed to complete 10miles on one of the courses. She had a full bib on, but by then I was confused and it didn’t matter which course she was on. She hit the course cold just like her sons. Sounds like lots of rivalry in that brood. You can see Bob, Tom and Aimee in the photos. Thumbs up to these unique runners from Oregon. No doubt, some fabulous stories being shared over beer and Cliff Bars.
Next up to the pool was the couple from Wisconsin. She had run before, this was his first. We agreed over cocktails that running 13.1 is a good run and why run 13.1 more. Ha. Now how do I explain that I’ve signed up for a marathon? As I said earlier today: See head? See head needs an examination?
I continued to sit and enjoy the sun with Gay and Whip and several of their friends came to join the gang. The Bloody Mary’s kept coming. I lost count. I didn’t care; my feet were feeling better. The sun was setting when the suggestion was made to travel a few blocks to a local bar. Why not? Off we went to Tugeau’s Bar (pronounced Two Jacks). It is a local bar and by the time we headed there my feet felt great and nothing felt sore. I was still running empty and blasting back the Bloodies. I wasn’t driving, so I suppose caution was tossed to the wind?
I had the pleasure of meeting a friend of the Baudin’s named Michael Smiroldo who is a local artist. He is a delightful man, and we walked down the street to look at his work. I have a piece I want to buy; I just haven’t gotten back to him yet. Michael, if you are reading this, I’ll catch up! The night wound down with Gay and Whip heading back to Baton Rouge and me off to a shower and dinner at the Pelican Club at the suggestions of Gay and Whip. I owe them big thanks, because I had a wonderful meal and had a good time chatting with the curly haired bartender, Trevor.
Trevor attended the University of Oklahoma and is from Denver. I took notes; hope I got that right. He was homeschooled and has traveled Europe. He wants to build furniture and things like picture frames from reclaimed wood. He said he has made a few pieces and he likes that used, recycled, old, and beat up things become beautiful pieces of art. He spoke affectionately of his Grandpa who has been a big influence in his life. He said” trashes to treasures” is therapeutic. Winding down the day a little tipsy and chatting with Trevor was also therapeutic. He is a curly haired sprite bartending in a very cool bar in NOLA and he has a love of old treasures. That is near and dear to my heart. Maybe I’ll send him one of my sleds from the infamous 32 children’s sled collection I own. He would treasure it!
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