Thursday, March 21, 2013

What's a Celebration Sans Mishap? (Project Pretty Week 10)

(Project pretty is a personal commitment to share my weekly journey of keeping my non-New-Year's-Resolution: staying fit to improve quality of life while inspiring others to do the same. Let's all jump on the endorphin wagon!)

This weekend marked our second annual participation in the Dash Down Greenville 5k. Classically ignoring our lesson from last year, Patrick and I stayed up way too late putting the finishing touches on our costumes and packing our bag.
Due to some scheduling conflicts, our group had a little bit different dynamic in comparison, but it was still a great crowd, we still parked in the same great church with the BBQ-ing good-Samaritans watching over our cars all day who let us use their Montessori for primping, and still took our group shot in the same great location.
Jess and I attempted to make our very first tutu's. I, of course, waited until 2 days before the run to start my tutu construction and ended up making it way fluffier than anticipated, causing me to run out of tulle at midnight only half way around the elastic, consequently having to make a second trip back to Hobby Lobby the next day only to find they were out of the primary color I'd been using (because, duh, everyone was buying green), resulting in me having to cut strips the hard way out of tulle sold by the yard in frantic attempts to avoid looking like a schizophrenic made my skirt. Why oh why do I do things like this to myself?
The boy's costumes were simple, yet perfectly adorable. Once again, Jess and I were on the same wave length and bought ties before even talking to each other about it. 

We spent the early morning hopping around to stay warm and taking pre-sweaty pictures while checking out everyone else's creativity skills. Can you tell I cut my own bangs?!?! Almost lost an eye by synthetic hair trauma in the process.
The Run-On chicken made an appearance............What do chickens have anything to do with Run-On?
And the leprechaun from last year was back!! I'm convinced he waited around all year for his favorite gig.
This year the race SOLD OUT; word must have spread about the fun. 
And as the sun started to come up, everyone gathered closer and closer together in preparation to cross the starting line. 
My pet peeve about these kind of races: clueless walkers who squeeze their way towards the front of the line and get in every one else's way. Most of the first mile was slowly jogging while weaving between the crowd. (I have NOTHING against walkers, I only have beef against people who don't acknowledge any sort of speed placement, causing unnecessary traffic.)
We lost Patrick in the crowd early on, but he eventually found us again. 
He just couldn't resist the gravitational pull of our tutu's. 
I noticed about half-way through the race a wardrobe malfunction was transpiring. My wig was slowly creeping further and further off my head.
At first I wasted a lot of energy trying to fix it, but after several attempts, settled with just letting my roots show until the race was over. 
For me this was a test run, since I'd been battling some sharp calf pain the majority of the week. For a couple of days I was actually limping; I even had to quite the row machine.
My faithful companions stayed by my side as I cautiously put one foot in front of the other. The verdict was although I was well aware of the tendon's existence (or whatever the heck it is in there giving me grief), the sharp pain I'd felt days before was gone.
Patrick left me in the dust towards the finish while I kicked back and took it easy, not wanting to push my sensitive situation over any edges, content in my ability to jog.

Of course, he still wanted to see Cristina and I at the finish line, so he waited for us. And as he made his way back to give us high-fives, got scolded for traffic disturbance......go figure.
It wasn't until well after the run, while walking around to see the vendors, I realized the real wardrobe crisis. My tutu was wadded up in my crotch like a fluffy green diaper! Who knows how long it'd been that way! I'd noticed the feeling of some extra material between my legs, but just thought it was my tights ooching up! (The picture is the real deal, not a re-inactment!!) I guess next time, I'll make my tutu shorter?
I loved the doggy costumes, but I'm pretty sure there wasn't a single dog glad to be amongst all the chaos. 
The three of us gathered as much free stuff as possible while waiting for Jess and her family to cross the finish line, and I bought my very first running hat (can't resist race vendor prices). Somehow I managed to walk away from the booth without my debit card and when I went back to get it, I was separated from my clan. Word to the wise: always have a last resort meeting spot planned out, because when 99% of 9,000 people are wearing green, black, or white, picking a familiar face out of the crowd is a hopeless task. 
Every single member of our group won a prize by throwing bean bags into a hole..........except me, and I even sweet talked the vendor into giving me another chance. So Patrick won me a shirt out of pity and probably a little love too. 
Look how sweet Jess' parents are in the background; I love how they are still so affectionate. 
After a quick ensemble change, we bid Cristina adieu, and found a spot for some grub. 
Bubba's Cooks Country is a little diner in Upper Greenville with down-home-Momma-and-Pappa-just-made-breakfast kind of food. Big thick pieces of bacon, moist and hearty fresh crumbly buttermilk biscuits, fried name it. 
Judging by the crowd, we were the last to know about it, but our timing was perfect for scouting out a table just as a large topper family was leaving. 
Jasmine crafted a sign for the parade and couldn't wait to show it off.  
But by the time we got down to the street, the layers of spectators was so thick, we couldn't find a spot conducive to parade watching, so everyone took turns letting her sit on their shoulders. 
Eventually we got smart and hoisted her up on a tree limb, where she stayed and waved at all the passerby-ers until the show was over. 
Too bad I wasn't tiny enough to fit in the tree, because I bet the people watching from up there was amazingly entertaining! 
Before the parade even started (10 am), paramedics were already wheeling people away.

I can't even tell you how many strangers collapsed in a drunken stupor, that Jess and I resuscitated with water and snack bars. How in the world do people get themselves so obliterated so early in the day.......better yet, WHY?

We sat on the Flinstone rock and watched all the crazies scurry around like directionless ants, as I taught Jasmine lessons about life and how not to behave when she got older. 
After all those lessons, Jessica realizes she lost her phone! We all knew in the zoo we'd submerged ourselves in, orphaning an iPhone 5 was like a waving a snickers bar under the noses of a starving mob, but we took out a search party in spite of the chances for recovery..............well, everyone looked EXCEPT Bobby, who refused to waste his time. 
Up and down the streets we searched, backtracking our every move, double checking pockets and coolers, fine tooth combing through grass blades and inspecting shadows. When all efforts had been exhausted, Jess and I walked away with pouting lips, head bowed low in disappointment, completely bummed, while Patrick refused to give up and kept staring at the same places hoping we missed something. 
Maybe it's because our heads were low, or maybe it's just because I'm awesome......whatever the reason, I was observing the trashed streets in pure disgust when I noticed a shimmer of bling behind the back tire of a parked truck. When I drew close to see what it was, I realized it was the back of Jess' phone!!! I ran over and snatched it up, handed it to her, and right then and there we caused a scene, hooting and hollering while doing a victory dance!!!! Needless to say, Bobby had some big time apologizing to do! 
Charged with enough excitement for one day, we head to back to the suburbs for some boneless pickles at Hooters (our little very confusing inside joke), where we quickly became misfits in our festive green attire. But we didn't care, cause we knew we looked good. 
Our waitress even told me I looked like a white Nicki Minaj with my wig and green eye shadow......and anyone who witnessed how often I touched my hair that day would have to agree (totally the wind's fault!).
Now as for my calf......hopefully it will behave for the real run this coming Sunday or I will be stomping around pouting for the next century.

What did you do for St. Patricks' day?


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