What a Fine Sweater Set!
The pre-race jitters kooky dreams have set in. Either that, or I just finished The Relay in a delicate pink sweater set, and now must apologize to the masses for getting rather lost and adding hours and hours to our team time.
I’m Leg Nine. I know I’m Leg Nine. But in last night’s freak-fest, I thought I was Leg Six, which in my math-deprived state meant I thought I’d be the first runner of Van #2, rather than the last of Van #1. But for the purposes of my nightmare, Leg Six was indeed the first to pop out of Van #2.
Run, Run, RUN! God Kari, just GO!
I wasn’t prepared. It came on too fast. I hadn’t changed yet! What, were the Van #1 runners really that speedy that Van #2 wasn’t even ready? Worse – why was I wearing the aforementioned sweater set? After all, as thankful as I am to the fabulous GM folks, I don’t think I’m wearing a delicate sweater set and pearls to our dinner with them Friday night; and I certainly wouldn’t wear pearls to bed.
Realistically, had I been caught off guard Saturday morning I should be in sweats, hair all askew. Instead, I looked like I was doing the interview portion of Miss America. What I feared most though, as I took off running in my pumps, wasn’t that the sweater would rip, or that my skinny dark jeans would be too constricting. I didn’t mind my hair curled around my face just-so, which would likely bug me once the sweat came. Nope, it was all about the bra. After all, when wearing a delicate sweater set, the bra is dainty, not heavy armor.
I found a bathroom to change my bra - yup, just the bra – during which time I saw tons of The Relay runners sprinting by. They all wore those underwear-like track bottoms that shows every inch of their well-groomed-down-there-anatomy with sleek singlets displaying their endorsements. They looked like they were doing 50 meters, not a race involving “miles.”
When I emerged, the runners were gone. Instead, I saw a bunch of skinny folks on lounge chairs by a spectacular pool. Not knowing which direction to run, I took off into the forest. Why I chose the scariest place, I’ll never know. But believe me, next time I have that choice, I think I’ll just hang by the pool.
So apologies in advance if I show up this weekend wearing pumps, pearls, and a delicate pink sweater set.