One Morning in Maine

Without a doubt, the best--if not the most curious--compliment I've ever gotten was from a friend who said in his Tennessee drawl, "Kristina, you're built like a brick shithouse."

He was just trying to boost my ego after dragging me to a Bikram yoga class in which I was posing next to some of the longest, leanest bods outside of Are You Hot? (best. show. ever.). But I grabbed at his inaccurate kindness and have delighted in my resemblance to a high-quality outhouse ever since.

This weekend, I met Kathrine Switzer, who gave me the second best compliment I've ever received, and she didn't even mention septic tanks.

"You look like a marathoner," she said when I asked her to sign her book for me at the packet pick-up for this weekend's half-mary. I hoped that she wasn't referring to my hair, which you can see desperately suffered from shampoo fatigue brought on by several consecutive days of running.

My response to KSwitz was to bumble like an idiot, trying hard to resist the temptation to ask her what it was like to be the first woman to run the Boston Marathon before the era of wicking fabrics and the Bondi band.

While my mind was working overtime to edit my mouth, I kept one eye on Henry who was leaning towards the abyss that is 2 p.m. without a nap in sight. After he called to me from the interior of a circular clothing rack, he busted through the shirts, bringing down several in the process. Then he helped a complete stranger unravel a knotted extension cord while I paid Dame Switzer $30 for my book, not knowing that I could have bought it on Amazon for $6. Whoops.

Still, I got an autographed copy, and Kat inscribed it with a lovely sentiment that effectively conveyed she is not a regular Marathon Mama reader.

Kristina!
You're the 'Marathon Momma' and you know that this is magic--it gives us everything, especially ourselves. Go for it!
K Switzer
9/21/08
Maine Coast 1/2

I of course forgive her spelling of "Mama" because she paved the way for female race bandits everywhere. As an aside, I am a dyed-in-the-organic-cotton feminist who thinks women's races are an empowering sea of short pink skirts, but the irony that she was headlining a race excluding men was not lost on me.

She wrote an inspirational inscription worthy of a pre-race pep talk, which I can confidently claim because I heard her say "It gives us everything, especially ourselves" into a mic before the race started this morning. It's all good. I'd still give my left ovary to look like her when I'm that age. She's built like a brick shithouse.

Oh yeah, so I also ran a half-marathon this morning. It was such a relief to be in another race with only women. One does get sick of hearing the tired question, "Does my mustache make me look fat?"

Beneath a sky "bluer than The Simpsons opening credits," as Brian poetically put it (look out, Rilke), I did my best to prove all of my speed training has made an iota of difference. This obviously means that I started too fast and had trouble finding a pack of women so that I, too, could Run With the Wolves. I spent most of the race on my own, until mile 8 or so, when a pack of akimbo girls cut me off and pissed me off to equal extremes.

I found my groove again by mile 10 and cruised along the ocean for a mile and a half when I felt something explode under a toe on my left foot. For the first time, a blister developed and popped in the course of a single race. I did not like this. I rather hated it for about a mile when I suppose the entire thing had drained to a sore base, and I pushed into the last half-mile. Suffice it to say, I am not at all Inspired by my shoes and am trying to figure out what to do in that department.

So if you're still reading this unnecessarily long race report, you may be holding on just to know how I did in the end.

1:43:34
12/90 in age group
54/601 overall
PR by 2 minutes
7:50 pace

For only being in its second year (I think), the race was flawlessly executed by the race directors and volunteers. Ovation for the organizers. Below are some pics. To see more, including shots of the gorgeous town of York where the race happened, go to Brian's flickr page.

Mile 10, before my toe rebelled:


Mile 13, after my toe rebelled: