Well, we won’t get too detailed. Broad Street weekend was a blast. (The run itself wasn’t too bad.) Erin and Kurt had several old friends and some of their neighbors over for a raucous pre-race dinner on Saturday. Kurt baked pizzas and Erin baked the lasagna of Kurt’s wildest fantasies. Mark ate stuff. Scott sliced peppers and chomped dry lasagna noodles with me when Melissa wasn’t looking.
Thanks to our ages we still managed to bunk down shortly after midnight–and awoke to the gentle patter of rain on the Dainty / Yusi compound’s slate roof. Against our collective better judgment we pulled on our shoes, packed our bags and dashed for the R6. (Runners ride free! Thanks, SEPTA! And true to its name, turns out SEPTA has secret bathrooms, too. But I prefer to unexpectedly hop off the train instead.)
For a race with over 25,000 registrants, things actually seemed to go pretty smoothly–I pushed my way through the crowds to check my bag, and then found Melissa, Mark and Scott outside our corral. (Kurt was in a much speedier group that had already started.)
And then–we ran. And got a little wet. Things got a little blurry. Mark wore a trash bag in public places. Melissa offered her opinion on Tastykake brand breakfast bars (which I thought tasted like you’d expect them to, and Melissa pointed out were about as bad for you as you’d expect them to be). We learned a bit about the utility of breakfast and hydration and training, and that Kurt’s neighbors make great race-day guacamole, and that Bolt Bus outlets don’t always work.
(The next update is Colbert Report-related, but perhaps Melissa will knock that one out, in a compare/contrast format.)
