What Makes Me Laugh

6:20 a.m.

Worry Wart

Day two of the Vegas adventure started at 6:20 a.m. with a more-than-slightly hungover me waking to the alarm of a text message. You should just lay there, my body said. But my brain had different ideas, so I fumbled for the phone and opened it under the covers to read the message from my sister. She had just faxed her marathon confirmation to the hotel so that I could prove I wasn’t a malicious runner’s packet stealer to the Vegas race organizers.

With this news in hand, I tried to go back to sleep, but all I could think about was my plan for getting those packets.

“I have a situation,” I’d start, or “Have you ever been in a Canadian blizzard before?” or “I’ve already picked up my packet, but my sister is somewhere between here and Alberta and won’t be arriving until after you’ve gone home for the day. Why don’t you be a pal and wave the identification requirement?” In that last scenario, I kind of imagined myself as a Soprano, handing someone a bribe who was being “difficult.”

Getting jittery that the fax may not have arrived and my sister would be on her way to the airport soon I bagged the sleep and used the light from my cell phone to find my clothes (so I didn’t wake Crystal). Dressing took approximately 10 times as long as it should because I couldn’t find a pair of pants in the dark and after remembering Crystal finding glitter on the floor last night I began to get paranoid that someone wearing a sequined dress broke into our room and stole my jeans. When you’re hungover, this seems like a reasonable theory.

8:15 a.m.

Fax in one hand, a $3 bottle of water in the other, I start to walk back to the Runner’s Expo to save a $10 cab ride. Over the course of the two miles, I stopped four times to pee. A little worried about the race and getting dehydrated, I was drinking water like crazy, and paying for it. Not only that, but my toes had suddenly started to hit the front of my shoes. My feet had swollen. A lot. This does not make for a good half marathon.

9:00 a.m.

Lost In Translation

When I finally reached the front of the line for Corral #12 (runners had different waiting gates) I took a deep breath and said, “I have a situation.” And they had a solution. Yes, the actual place I was directed was called “Solutions” and they had already heard about the delays, and bada bing bada boom I had the race packets in hand. The only problem was that I couldn’t find my way outside to a cab. I’m serious. I have never been so lost inside before. I wandered around the convention center and casino for a good half hour before I found a door that offered a glimmer of hope. Crystal thinks they do this on purpose so that you’ll get so tired you’ll just sit down and gamble, and I think she’s right.

3:00 p.m.

In the middle of shopping for a new dress I called my sister to check on their travel, and she says, “Guess where we’re at?” Calgary. Turns out the delays have stacked up and they won’t be leaving now until 4:00, and were on standby from Salt Lake City to Vegas. And the big bummer is that they are going to miss out on “O” the Cirque de Soleil performance in water playing at our hotel that night. Crystal and I weren’t planning on going, but I had picked up the tickets for my sister, and now that they couldn’t make it … well, a circus performance couldn’t be missed, right?

7:00 p.m.

O

I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than five minutes of Cirque de Soleil, even on PBS, so this was a new experience. We had incredible seats and most of the time I had a series of questions running through my head while watching the acrobatics like, “Who are these people? Ex-Olympic-gymnasts? Even ex-Olympians have bad days, am I going to see someone die tonight?” Seriously. I felt afraid for the acrobats and actors for most of the show. The most incredible part was the set, which opened up to an Olympic diving pool for parts, shallow pool for others, and completely dried up at times.

9:15 p.m.

Immediately after the show I texted my sister and heard great news back. They had arrived on the second flight and were just picking up their luggage at the airport. Crystal and I went for a late night carb loading dinner at the Italian restaurant and waited for their arrival. When they finally showed up, I thought their bad luck had ended, but instead I found out that their carry-on (which included all of their running gear) was left on the shuttle from the airport.

To Be Continued ….

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!

I’m leaving today for Las Vegas to run Sunday’s Rock ‘N Roll Half Marathon on the Vegas strip. Both Vegas and running a half will be a first, and I hope to survive both.

So far I’ve survived running in the rain, the wind, the snow, and the ice, so whatever lies ahead can’t be that bad. A big part of my life for the last six months has been getting myself in shape for this and following a gradual training plan, so I’ve put in some miles around our town (which provides me an opportunity to show off a few photos of Livingston). We have a nice park in town, with a short walking path along the Yellowstone River.

I’ve also perfected my “don’t mess with me” pedestrian face for running on the road. Even in small towns people can be oblivious or rude or both to runners and walkers, and I’ve developed a near phobia of cars. Doug and I’ll take walks in the evening, and if I even hear a car I jump. So, thankfully, the course in Vegas will be automotive-free. Looking forward to observing lots of funny stuff to post on the blog next week!

I’m getting older, so my doctors tell me, and they aren’t very nice about it.

I hurt my shoulder in July when I took a backhand swing with my tennis racket a little harder than normal. It’s embarrassing because I was frustrated, and said a few choice words, but no rackets were broken. I just ended up in the doctor’s office a few weeks later, wondering whether I tore my rotator cuff.

“You know,” she said, looking through my chart. “You’re not in your twenties anymore. You can’t just go out and play without warming up. You do stretch, don’t you?”

“Mm,” I answered, thinking maybe I needed anger management more than warm-ups, but point taken. I’m old, or older, and according to my physical therapist, I “have a very weak rotator cuff for my age.”

Thanks.

It seems I’ve hit a new point in my lifespan with doctors. They’ve begun to lecture me now. Whereas before it was in and out, now it’s in and a lifetime of instructions. My foot doctor prescribed orthotics, fixed me with a steely eye, and informed me my days of sandals and high heels were gone — long gone. “These are like glasses. They won’t fix your feet. They just correct them, and you have to wear them every day or the pain will come back,” he warned.

Similarly, every time I see the physical therapist she says, “You have to do these exercises every day for the rest of your life.” And then for good measure another, “The Rest Of Your Life!”

Ok! Ok! I get it already. I’m older. Prone to injury. I need to walk before I jog, and jog before I run, and soon I’ll be taking fiber supplements and glucosamine just to stay alive. It’s hard to believe I’m still young enough to walk without a cane given the way my doctors talk.

So, I’m hauling this old body around, trying to get it in shape for a half marathon, and finding some success. It’s just that I’m not in my twenties anymore.

That’s what my friend Crystal said when she realized that Doug wasn’t aware we were planning a trip to Vegas. 

“Yeah,” I said, giving a sheepish look over at Doug. “I haven’t told him yet. But I was going to soon!”

See, I have this bad habit of asking for forgiveness rather than permission (not that I need to ask permission from my husband to do anything, but we do make joint financial decisions together). And I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted to go, and then there wasn’t a good time to say anything, and so I procrastinated. 

Anyway, let me back up here. I think I’m getting ahead of myself. This whole thing started with a call from my sister a couple of weeks ago.  “Hey,” she said. “I was wondering if you wanted to run a half marathon in Vegas with me.” 

“Yes!” I answered without thinking. “When is it?” 

“December 6.”

A good time of year to leave Montana. Sun in December. Just when I need it most. Plus, a fun girls trip with my sister. Plus, I’ve never been to Vegas (gambling doesn’t excite me), and we would be running on the strip in the Rock ‘n Roll marathon. Plus, I need motivation to complete my second wildly improbable goal: running a 10k in 50 minutes. I know that’s a slug pace for most runners, but believe me, it’s wildly improbable for me. I chronicled my first wildly improbable goal — winning a trip to Australia — a few months ago, and that was an awesome experience.

So, I asked Crystal if she wanted to run it with me. Before I got around to telling Doug. But I had a lot of time to tell him! Months to go even, if it just hadn’t have slipped out at dinner we might have gone weeks before having the, “You’re going to Vegas? On a girls trip? Without me?” discussion.

Anyway, that’s over now, and he’s cool with it, but I think he’s still willing to go and crash the party if I let him. Besides, he pointed out, there’s a run through wedding option during the marathon so we could renew our vows during the run! Hmm, now that’s an idea. I wonder if I’d have to buy a white running outfit?

No, no, no — Doug can’t go. Sorry honey, this is a girls trip, and training started this week. Crystal and I are running with the baby in the jogger and the dog’s leash in my hand. It’s an adventure every morning. It’s a wildly improbable goal. In Vegas! With the girls!