Hijacking the neighbors’ internet, just like their power…
Oh for the record I’m getting really good at air-drying my hair and getting dressed in the dark. More on that later – Emily finally posted her Vegas pt2 so I guess that means I have to get on mine.
(also means you’ll see a lot of hi-jacked pics)
This weekend is brought to you by the word HI-JACK and the number GIMMEMYDAMNPOWERBACK.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Part 1 (the one with the dancing, classy drinking vehicles, and I still don’t know what zoozacrackers is)
Sunday morning (aka Race Day of the Race We Weren’t Running) started like most race mornings…
Aron and Page diligently blogging, weather-checking, and race-strategizing. Em and I nourishing our immune systems with Vitamin C while simultaneously toxifying our livers with $3.99 Andre. Night races are awesome – so much more time to fuel up and get ready! I really don’t understand why all those runners complained about the 5pm start…
In the contest of Most Involved Productions in SarahOUaL Getting-Ready History, I’m ranking 1) my wedding 2) RnRLV ’11 3) all HS dances combined. (RnR is 2nd only because I had to do my own makeup and my outfit didn’t require alterations or special undergarments.)
We pondered and stressed and debated the perks/downfalls of each ridiculous outfit we laid out for probably hours. Eventually, we found the winners.
We sparkled, we glowed, and we had enough noisemakers to blast ourselves into early hearing-loss.
But before we could take our Race Cheerleaders of the Year butts to the course, we had an important item to check off on our raceday checklist :
I even got to watch the Browns lose on a little tiny tv while Em’s Giants battled the Packers on the 40 foot big screen. That’s always fun. Such are Sundays for Cleveland lovers.
… for the last 48 years…
Anyways once our bucket was sucked dry and the Legasse Stadium patrons had enough of our tutu’d nonsense, we made our way out to the strip to set up cheer camp.
And cheer the F we did. I still have callouses from cowbelling my frozen little heart out. We yelled and screamed and ticked off almost every runner friend we had on our I SPY list.
As our appendages froze and our voices became hoarse we retreated into the nearby Margarita Bar for warmth and refreshments.
Yeah you could get a margarita at the Margarita Bar, but why would you when they serve delicious and OH-approved PBR on draft?
So we did, and in a severe case of misfortune and drunk haze, I somehow wound up with a baby cup.
Luckily our new awesome friend Sarah (so many sarah’s!) was there so I kept my “DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM GIMME THE BIG BEER” to a minimum in order to save some face.
(for the record, Sarah came with a coffee tumbler full of wine and a cowbell-ready arm, so I think she understood my pain)
Eventually we made our way to the other side of the strip at mile 11 (half) and 25 (full) to cheer all the runners to the finish, where mass hysteria and 2-hour cab lines awaited them.
I’ve never been so happy to not have run a race.
(I’m sure a quick google search will bring up plenty of reviews if you’re curious, but I’m not linking to any – despite my vehement opposition to the Rock n Roll series.)
It was SO awesome seeing everyone – despite the heavy crowds we were again able to see almost everyone, especially Ragnar teammate Ashley who ran her first full (AND sub4’d!). Seriously the reactions from the runners on the course and hearing people afterwards saying that us yelling like
drunks fools gave them a boost and helped their race is THE BEST feeling.
So worth all those beers I drank and sleep I lost. YOU ARE WELCOME, RUNNERS! It was all for you.
Half of Your Sweatiest, Cowbell-iest, ok-really-its-time-to-actually-RUN-a-race-now Cheerleaders