I have an exceptionally terrible memory. Chances are if I meet you at a party, I’ll forget your name within 3 minutes of our handshake. I often find myself wandering about my house from room to room, or weaving up and down aisles in the grocery store, trying desperately to recall what I was about to do or buy. I’m not sure of what I did on my last birthday or what I ate for breakfast this morning, but could possibly figure out a version of both with a lot of careful thought and some serious wrinkle-inducing brow furrowing. Basically if I don’t write something down immediately- ppffffftt it’s gone. (Except for ’80s song lyrics. Those are forever embedded in my brain- thank  goodness.)
My reason for sharing the truth about my absentmindedness is not to make you dread getting older, because I assure you that not all gals my age have brains of oatmeal, but rather to beg your understanding in advance of reading this post.

On October 12th, just about a month ago, I ran another half marathon- my second in as many months.  Although the Healdsburg Half Marathon was the same distance as the Clo Cow Half Marathon (which I ran in September), that is really where the similarities between the two events ends.  Or not.  Maybe they were almost identical?  No, no they were really different.  Or were they?  The hell if I know!  I am writing this race recap a month after the fact so bear with me (hence my plea for your understanding).  I registered for Healdsburg while high on adrenaline, and my new lease on racing, acquired during the Clo Cow.  I felt strong, had a blast, and wanted more of the same rush achieved by no longer being consumed with pesky things such as PRs, paces, or negative splits.  My running and racing buddy, TPM, had already signed on to run Healdsburg  so it was a no-brainer to hop on that bandwagon- especially when I looked up the 2013 race results and confirmed that I couldn’t possibly come in DFL.  Plus, there would be wine tasting at the finish.  Wait, why hadn’t I run this race before?!

I realize that this pre-race photo is strikingly similar to the one from the  Clo Cow- TPM and I huddled together for warmth in the early morning hours, eager and anxious to get on with the task at hand.  But if you look closely you’ll see that  we’re both wearing different outfits and new shoes, and if you zoom way in you also might notice that I’m sporting a jaunty seevjbrun.com mesh cap.  Anyway, finally we started running and talking and inhaling the fresh wine country air laced with fermenting grapes (and no BO for as far as the nose could smell).  We stayed together for the first few miles and I’ll be damned if I can remember how or why, but eventually TPM and I drifted apart to run our separate races.

The course was beautiful and offered just the right amount of challenge via many rolling hills.  I listened to music, talked to myself (mostly as a reminder to have fun), and did what I had to in order to plow up the hills. I spotted a fellow runner wearing the same black polka dot shorts as me, and followed her for a bit.  After I passed her, we set foot in to an unspoken agreement to push one another along.  She ran past me.  I caught up and complimented her on her impeccable  taste  in athletic attire.  I ran on by.  She passed me,  I passed her, and so on until I left her in the dust we lost each other in the crowd.   I continued on my merry way, solo, until about mile 8 when I met Suzanne, my new bestie (for the next 4 miles, at least).  Initially we bonded over our mutual frustration with the slanted shoulder which all participants were forced to pick their way along,  given that the race officials did not see fit to close down even 1 lane of the fairly busy road.  But commiseration soon gave way to meaningful and time-passing conversation.  We discussed many things, including our running accomplishments and aspirations, and discovered we had much more in common than our numb right feet (from the slanted road) including our phases in life/ages of our children.

I ran the final mile alone, crossing the finish line in time to hear the announcer jovially butchering my last name, with a smile plastered on my sweaty face.  I had managed to shave 5 minutes off of last month’s half marathon time, and without any tears (a victory in itself).  I navigated my way through the runners in the finisher’s chute and was reunited with Suzanne who’d arrived a few minutes earlier.  We hugged and congratulated each other and she graciously agreed to pose for a picture, even though she and her husband planned to forego the post-race wine tasting in order to head back home.

I know, right?  Her husband took the picture.  Actually he took two and his fingers photo bombed in both.  They were  in a hurry.

Finally, I shuffled my quickly stiffening legs over to the beverage tent where I hydrated and celebrated with TPM.  The rest is a pleasant blur, not because of the wine, but on account of the oatmeal.

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