Seattle Rock n' Roll Marathon: This Half is for B-Balls!

Cousin Kayen came to visit last weekend. She and a couple of her girlfriends recently took on the "hobby" of running half marathons - that's thirteen point one (13.1) miles for those of you who may be delusional about what a marathon is. Oblige me to remind you kindly, a 5k race is NOT a marathon; in fact, just because it's a running race doesn't mean it's a marathon.

Anyway, where was I?

Kayen. She and her friends took up the the endearing nickname "Balls" at the end of their names. So Kayen is "Kari-Balls", and if I were one of them I'd be "Netty-Balls". Get it?

On about the the half marathons...

Kayen and her friends came all the way from the east coast to run the Rock n' Roll [Marathon &] Half Marathon Seattle stop of the series. But this time, their friend B-Balls didn't make it. So it was just Kayen and L-Balls. On their first day, they hit the expo to collect their race bibs, and to do a little shopping.

Expos are very interesting...

Novel...

Informative... And expensive. I got myself a pair of socks that cost almost as much as a pair of polarized sunglasses! (I was desperate. I'll tell you more later.)

I came along with the intention of just hanging out with my cousin, who I see maybe only every other year if we're lucky. But at the end of the day, I ended up committing to pounding 13.1 miles with Kayen and L-Balls. How could I turn down what would otherwise have become B-Balls's forfeited racing bib. For the next two days, I would claim the name of B-balls.

Hello, my name is B-balls! I am a weekend warrior. See the look on that face? It's the countenance of impending doom. But the best thing Yours Truly could do in the name of B-balls was to document what she would be missing.

So, without further ado, B-Balls, I dedicate this blog post to you.

Kayen, L-Balls, and I went to the International District to fuel up at an old time favorite bistro. Where Kayen ended up getting a parking ticket because we forgot about the parking meter as we chatted and laughed, catching up with our latest tell-alls.

The next morning, we planted ourselves in corral number 25.

I was confident I could finish this race. But not with a personal best, and definitely not making a personal record for my namesake, B-balls.

Oh, by the way, that crusty icky thing on my lower lip is a cold sore. It cracks when I smile too much, it stings when I drink orange juice, and it just looks plain ol' ugly! So I'm going to cover it with the Rock n' Roll Marathon logo from here on to keep you, reader, from gagging.You're welcome.



Rock bands played for the racers. There was a lonely band...

There was an upbeat, almost reggae-like band...

There was an interactive band... She pointed at me!

There was the boring band... Not only was their music boring, THEY were bored.

Guitarist: How much longer do we have to play?

Drummer: An hour and a half.

Guitarist: [Bleep] that [bleep]!

I don't think they cared that they had this conversation on the microphones. Their attitude actually befitted their name. Dead Man. Har har har har har har har har!

And then there was this band that I actually enjoyed.

There were cheerleaders, lot's of them! They cheered for the runners racing for time.

They cheered for racers who were raising funds for the fight against cancer.

They cheered for the brave of hearts who were honoring those fighting cancer.

They encouraged the weary runners tackling daunting hills.

They supported those who were running in honor of a fallen loved one.

The split for the full and the half courses were very well marked.

At one point I sent Kayen a text message that read "Took a wrong turn, so I'm doing the stinkin' marathon!"

Boy, did this cause a stir!

What I should have done was to send this photo with a text saying "I stopped to get directions from Seattle's finest, and they ended up giving me a ride to the finish..."

But I didn't. I caught up with my friend Lana. This is Lana's first half marathon race. She too, took pictures. We compared shots as we shuffled along, busying ourselves with our fancy camera phones, taking more pictures along the way.

I even stopped for a bite to eat, and take in the sensational view of our city, relishing every moment I could stand on the viaduct, which will soon be gone...

Then I rocked out with a bunch of die hards.

And stood aside to let a hoard of ladies pass...

At the end of the race, mustered up a smile to take this photo, and send it to Mayet. This is where Sheazie Bear and Jaida Bug were baptized. I miss the little darlings like crazy!

I was glad when it was over!

Now we could drink beer and ice our sore parts on this pallet of ice cubes.

We went to Ohana for lunch. I feasted on Spam. I deserved it! It had been six years since my last REAL run, the Chuckanut 30 Mile Run, so these 13 miles put a beating on my glutes!

On the way back to the car, we whooped and hollered at the marathoners who were bringing up the rear. If anyone deserved all the Spam in the world, it was they!

Oh, I said I'd tell you more about the socks. These are all the rave in the running sport. Compression socks. Not because they are a fashion statement from the turn of the nineteenth century. But because they improve circulation in the limbs they encompass, thereby preventing pain and fatigue. When I accepted B-Balls's bib, I also accepted the impending pain that comes with being an over-achieving weekend warrior. So I was willing to make an investment in a pair of socks that would work to my benefit.

Here's walking down stairs sideways, for you, B-Balls!

.