There is a very, very good reason that I didn’t run this weekend:
I mean C’MON! It was St. Patrick’s Day weekend! I’m Irish. I mean, legit Irish. And even though nobody actually drives snakes out of entire countries anymore, I’m still a fan of day drinking. I HAD to celebrate.
Casey’s sister came in all the way from the country of Dayton (Ohio) to celebrate with us. Without giving too much away, we are all 3coughcoughcough, so that put us in the high end of the age range of people heading out to celebrate all day – a fact that didn’t stop us. Nay, it made us more determined to not just go out, but to show these wippersnappers how it’s done. I believe they call that ‘representing’.
So we hop on the T, head down to Station Square, and it was awesome. If by awesome you mean the most annoying, disgusting, most skin crawling display of green-bedecked human people that I have ever seen. Pretty much your typical St. Patty’s Day in Pittsburgh. The difference wasn’t the crowd, the difference was me. It’s official. I’m getting old.
For instance, at a table outside of on of the bars, there was a young(ish) woman sitting alone in a chair. She looked to be about my age, or a hard mid-20’s. She was all alone, friends no where to be seen. She was retching, about to barf. I encouraged her to get up and barf over the ledge, a command that her booze-addled brain was able to obey. She waddles over, starts to throw up over the ledge into the parking lot, and I notice that she had also pissed herself. A large, dark, wet spot announced to all who saw (all thousands of them) that this young lady was there to PARRRRRRRTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYY. Party till she puked AND pissed herself, while hundreds of drunken strangers took pictures and videos to post on the internet to live on for ALL TIME. It was 1:45 in the afternoon.
I could go on. But I won’t. We had a great time, we really did. There were just certain things that I saw that reminded me that this was a young person’s game (mostly the bathrooms. It seems that young people will go in the most disgusting of toilets), and I was not that young anymore. Until I got drunk, at which point it was fabulous and I had a great time. Albeit without pissing myself or barfing (take THAT, young people. There is something to be said for EXPERIENCE).
But that is not the only reason that I wasn’t running. I had to take a self imposed five day break. I got, ladies and gentlemen, an injury. After being diagnosed by one of the most respected authorities in medicine, Google, it was determined that I had a shin splint in my right leg.
I ran my 8 miles Sunday, took off Monday and Tuesday, went to go to my speed workout Wednesday, got a quarter mile in and and literally could not bear the throbbing in my right leg. I walked home, crying. Really. I was legit crying. All I could think of was all this hard work was going to be for nothing, that I was done. I was going to end my running career before it even started (I can be a tad dramatic). Hot tears dripped down my face as I hobbled home, defeated.
Casey gave me a much needed reality check. Take five days off, then run, see how it feels. If you can’t run Cooks Forest, you can’t run Cooks Forest. It doesn’t mean you’re done running FOREVER. Turns out, he was right. I took off from Wednesday to Monday, and guess what? I busted out four miles yesterday like it was nothing. My leg felt fine. Whew mother effing hoo.
It appears that for now, my running career is back on (by career I mean recreational hobby. Career just sounds like it has more gravitas. And I love me some gravitas). My St. Patrick’s Day in the City career may, however, be in jeopardy. I don’t know if I’ve out grown it, or if I’m getting too old, or if…. I think it’s just time to pass that baton.
Girl Who Peed Herself, I deed to you the title of Most Awesomest Day Drinking Chick, Ever. Please take this title, get some self freaking restraint, and don’t piss yourself next year and embarrass us both. I’ve got some races coming up, so if you need any tips or advice, I’ll be over in my ottoman, watching The Voice and rubbing icy hot on my shin. You’re welcome.
Yours in green beer,