I am not a runner. Let me just say that up front. I’ve tried running in the past and I always end up with bruised and missing toenails. Why run when walking is an option? An enjoyable exercise is one where I can simultaneously chat with friends, take photos and enjoy the scenery. If going for walks with my dog while framing good shots with my camera was an Olympic sport I would get a medal. It takes a very specific set of skills to balance ones finger on the shutter button while holding the dog leash as said hound attempts to chase a squirrel, rabbit, errant leaf or the UPS truck. And yet I am now registered to run 13.1 miles.
A week before Christmas I was enjoying some much-needed down time at a local nail salon with some close friends. As my toes were submerged in suds and the massage chair hummed delightfully, my friend Jaime passed me a Dixie cup filled to the brim with margarita. Note: If anyone passes you a drink in a nail salon, make sure you know them. I did, so I brought the cocktail to my lips and in doing so I tasted a bit of paper mixed with tang. I smacked my lips: Pre-Christmas Delight. “Careful!” she says “They’re pretty potent.” Two chairs down my friend Johanne announces: “I’m doing a half-marathon, who wants to join me?” Potent? Too late. Half a Dixie cup down I sipped with my right hand, raised my left and gleefully trilled “I will!” Finished with my thimbleful of cocktail I was promptly handed another. “Hurray! It’s going to be SO great, running together!” Johanne looks at me smiling. We both settle back into our massage chairs and while she began talking about Christmas gifts left to buy, I closed my eyes, relaxed into the chair and succumbed to the delights of toenails being painted “Goth Holiday” a gorgeous dark burgundy gloss. That’s pretty much the last thing I remember. Although I vaguely recall further cocktails in a bar followed by dinner, someone had a guitar and there was singing. Lots of singing.
The next morning, err…afternoon I slip into the kitchen to make some tea. “Oh look who’s up!” My husband says grinning at me. “Don’t shout- hey hand me a mug.” As he hands it to me I ask “Um.. that half-marathon, when is it?” “Babe, it’s in March.” “What?? That’s just weeks away!” It starts to come back to me..the salon (are my toes painted BLACK?), happy holiday cheer and Dixie cups. Oh God, the Dixie cups.
Clearly, I cannot be trusted around cocktails.
Or nail salons.
NEXT POST: 1/2 Marathon: Suicide Workout