What Makes Me Laugh

I’m a little road weary from the trip and sore from the run (I silently scream at the sight of stairs) but I couldn’t wait to share the Vegas blow-by-blow since it’s so good.

I’m doling out by day, so check back for the new installments. Sorry there’s no pic for the first day – I missed my photographer (Doug) on this trip.

Friday

1:00 p.m.

What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. Montana is a really big state with a population the size of a Neanderthal cave. What I’m getting at is that we all know each other, or know someone who knows someone we know, and so there are no real secrets. Which is why I shouldn’t have been that surprised when I got on the plane and locked eyes with a familiar face. I know that person. What is his name?  Peter? Tom? God, I don’t remember. All I know is, he’s from my hometown 300 miles north of here (pop. 500 or so) and I’m sure he knows my parents, as does the woman sitting next to him, who recognizes me and shouts, “Hey, what are you doing here?”  I do know her (she went to high school with me). She and the rest of the plane are going to watch the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas, and everyone laughs when she jokes, “We’re going to be doing a marathon all right, but we ain’t gonna be running.”

1:30 p.m.

Montana rednecks love to show off their scars. I’m reading Vanity Fair when I hear the man sitting next to my friend Crystal start up a conversation with her. First he asks if she’ll keep his Bud Light while he goes to the bathroom (he later tells a woman he knows not to go in ’cause he peed all over the seat), then he grosses her out with the description of his various scars. Let’s see here, he squeezed a bottle so hard that he shattered the glass and severed the tendons in his fingers. He separated his shoulder and broke his pelvis in two from a motorcross accident. He fell on top of metal post trying to break a horse when he was 9, and had a rope burn on his arm so bad it left a permanent scar from trying to swing from a tree into the lake. And those were just the visible scars. Thank god he didn’t take off his shirt! I said, “So, do you think you’re lucky to be alive?” Nope. He sure didn’t. He just wished for better times, when underage drinking was winked at in Montana, when cops just asked you, “Do your parents know where you’re at?” instead of drawing their guns.  and when an old cowboy was ready to die he just stripped off his clothes in the winter and died of exposure. To top off the conversation he took a big old pinch of chew (or snoose as we call it here) and put it in his lip in front of us.

2:30 p.m.

Planes, trains, and automobiles — My dad called with some terrible news. A big storm had hit Calgary, Alberta and my sister’s flight to Vegas had been cancelled! She had been my original inspiration to sign up and train for this run (see my post, “Oh my god, you didn’t tell him!”), and this was a sister/girls trip. I caught up with her traveling in a blizzard to a hotel next to the airport so that they (she and her friend Terry) could get up early to stand in line for the first flight out on Saturday. It wasn’t looking good.

3:30 p.m.

Bellagio Hotel to Mandalay Bay for Runner’s Expo — What do runners and cowboys have in common? They both like to wear tight pants. Seriously. The city was full of cowboys and runners when we arrived. Lycra is more comfortable than jeans, as are running shoes to cowboy boots, especially when you have to walk two miles to get from your hotel to a runner’s expo. The best Vegas advice given to me was from Blake, who wrote, “I cannot overemphasize the importance of comfortable walking shoes.” It was a 2 mile walk to Mandalay Bay, which from the strip map that I had, looked like it might be two blocks. The city should have a disclaimer that “objects in your vision are not as close as they appear.” By the time we got there we were dehydrated and in need of some cytomax. If you go to Vegas, bring your own water bottles, as they charge I’m-lost-in-the-desert-and-will-pay-any-amount-of-money for water ($3-$5 a bottle).

5:30 p.m.

Cocktail Hour

The bad thing about running a race in Vegas on Sunday is that we arrived on a Friday, which meant I had to from drinking for two whole nights. It didn’t happen. First we had a Geisha cocktail at Yellowtail lounge in the Bellagio, and it was both the best cocktail I’ve ever had and the most expensive ($14). While we were there I got another text from my sister that their trip had been cancelled! Since I’m the world’s slowest texter I called to find out the details and it turned out the morning flight had been cancelled and they wouldn’t arrive until after 6. This was only a problem because they had yet to pick up their packets to run, and there were big signs posted everywhere that “No Packets will be Given to Friends or Family. No Exceptions!” You’d think we were trying to pull off an international incident, not a half marathon run given the security at that place. I promised my sister I’d get her and Terry’s packets tomorrow by hook or crook and they booked the 12:00 flight out of Calgary.

The Geisha numbed my blood and brain cells enough to pay another $14 for a roller coaster ride at New York New York (which is a different experience entirely in your 30’s then it is in your 20’s). I downed a hard cider at the Irish pub, and did a bad imitation of Riverdance on the pub floor. And finally, we sang our lungs out at the dueling piano bar, where a group of Canadians managed to buy the ultimate Canadian medley (the Canadian Hockey Song, Oh Canada, and Barenaked Ladies – If I had a Million Dollars). In a gin-induced moment, I put $20 down for Piano Man, and Crystal had to throw down another $20 to get them to play it instead of country.

So, to sum up, so far I’ve spent more than I normally budget for a week’s worth of groceries on booze, thrill rides, and bribes in 8 hours. Sounds like Vegas to me!