I ran a Marathon cause I’m lazy
Catching Up
It’s been a crazy few months since I last posted. I’m working on two new books (one is just over a third done), I’m creating a playable novel (more on that later), I just finished a short Prequel for How to Sex Your Snake. (More later on how to get that), and I accidentally ran a marathon.
My husband is the runner. I just tag along cause I like spending time with him.
The race was the Space Coast Marathon and 1/2 Marathon up in Cocoa Beach on Nov 26. It’s a gorgeous course that takes you along the water as the sun is rising. And moving up over head. And setting behind your back. A marathon takes a hell of a long time to run. For some of us anyway.
3…2…1…liftoff
Starting point is a little park. You head south, turning around at around the 6 1/2 mile mark and come back to the park. That’s 13.1 miles. Anyone running the half stops there. Anyone running the whole, continues on past. They’ll run about 6 1/2 out then turn around and come back to the park for a total of 26.2 miles. But what happens if you sign up for the whole marathon but realize you just can’t make it? Well, at this race, there’s something called the ‘wormhole’. You take that path and it sends you to the half marathon finish line. It’s a nice out.
So, we’re approaching the wormhole and my husband says, do you want to take the wormhole? He did. I didn’t quite hear him and just kept running. If I’d of heard him and understood, I definitely would have peeled off into the wormhole. And as I ran the next few miles, I was wishing I’d have peeled off into the wormhole.
I think I can…I think I can…I think…ooooo, booze.
But then a funny thing happened. I got into a rhythm. And lovely people had tables set up, along the way, with shots and snacks. (I stuck with beer) My husband made it to 21. Which was partly my fault. I’d knocked us off our training schedule, in part because of laziness and in part because of…no, totally because of laziness. It’s tough to get up in the mornings to run when it’s so warm and comfy in bed. So he was under prepared.
Why did I keep going? Again, laziness. I was 5.2 miles from saying I’d run a marathon. If I’d have stopped, I’d have to run 26.2 more miles to say I’d run a marathon. Does that makes sense?
And the crowd roars…
Well, for the winner maybe. Just not for me. By the time I finished, most everyone had gone home. I was just happy to see my sweetie cheering for me as I cross the line.
In the end, I came in at 6:55:59. (The course is listed as a 7 hour time limit)
Cool. Now I’d run a marathon and I could go home and sit on the couch and get back to Glitch on Netflix. Which I did. And then Thursday came. And the email.
‘Are you ready for this weekend’s race?’
Huh?
Seems we’d sign up for a half marathon down in Key West. Mark couldn’t get the time off work so I headed down alone. I crashed at a friend’s place and went down to packet pickup point to grab my race bib and t-shirt. After they handed me my stuff, I asked I could just pick up my husband’s t-shirt. He’s not registered. He deferred to next year.
Huh?
Turns out, after we’d signed up for the race, eons ago and it was rescheduled at one point helping us truly forget about it. Mark finally figured out that he had decided that we should defer to next year. He had done that. (also eons ago) And I hadn’t. He says he reminded me many times. I’m no longer in charge of deferring my own races.
Totally fine with that.
Then before I left the packet pickup table, I looked inside my bag and discovered two race bibs. Turns out I was not only running the half, I was running a 5k the next day. My wobbly post marathon legs were not happy to hear that. But…that meant an extra day in Key West. The love of my life. (My husband doesn’t read this so he’ll never know he’s number 2)
In the end, over 8 day and three races, I ran 42.3 miles.
As I was sitting on a bench staring out at the ocean and eating my post race bagel on Sunday, my husband texted to see if I wanted to run a half this coming Saturday. I bet you can imagine what I told him.
Rest well and Write On,
Melissa
PS
I said no. And then I muttered a few of June’s favorite words.
PPS
Who the hell is June? You’ll have to read the book to find out and I can help you out with that. Here’s the first five chapters.
Melissa Banczak 