go, ray, go!

I want to write about this weekend’s Festival of Books experience, but before I go all nerdtastic on you, and continuing the “Where Are They Now” aspect to my posts lately (Michelle is working on an update about her mom for all y’all), I have to give excited props to my former roommate Ray, who spent yesterday running the OK City Marathon.

[scripty]
PAMIE
Dan. I want you to guess what Ray Prewitt did this morning.

DAN
Okay. He stole a boat and —

PAMIE
Nope.

DAN
Hmm. Okay, he was making this television show about a —

PAMIE
No.

DAN
He has this chicken and —

PAMIE
No.

DAN
I am literally out of ideas, particularly if this has nothing to do with a chicken.
[/scripty]

Today, as Ray rehashed the details to me, we realized that we were both lapped by the same hunchback. Which is awesome.

“Pam, I have to write about this, because I have to warn the world. Never run a marathon.”

“I know, Ray. I know.”

“Lady, it’s all your fault I did it in the first place. I figured, well, if Pam did something, it must be a good idea.”

“No, Ray. It hurts. I never tell people to run a marathon or write a book. They both hurt and take way too long.”

“But thank God there’s no second draft of a marathon.”

“My friend Andy once said to me, ‘I couldn’t possibly be interested in running one mile, much less twenty-six of them in a row.’ And I said, ‘That’s because you like yourself, and have nothing to prove.'”

“Oh, lady. Ain’t that the truth.”

Ray wrote about his experience, and boy can I relate. … except for the part where he likens the entire thing to being involved in extreme porn.

Digital Marathon Article: New York Times

“You don’t notice the time going by,” said Pamela Ribon, who credits Britney Spears’s “Toxic” for her “fifth wind” during the 24th mile and sixth hour of the ultrahumid Maui marathon in September.Running the Digital Marathon

Did I really say I didn’t notice the time going by? That’s hilarious. This is how you end up conning yourself into running another one.

see?

It wasn’t a hallucination.

It just feels like it was.

Almost two weeks after the marathon, I’m now sort of completely healed. The nasty blister on my foot has been drained of blood, so it looks sad instead of angry. There’s still a bruise on one of my toenails, which I didn’t know about until I took off my nail polish. (I ran with red toenails. I’m extreme, but i’m girlie!) The cut on my chest from my sports bra (Thanks, Oprah), has healed, but still has left a bit of a mark. But my feet, which were in so much pain — the tendons just under my ankles — are now letting me walk again. But I was a bit limpy there for a while. It turned out the only shoes that didn’t give me extreme pain were high heels. Ironically. Something about keeping my weight on the balls of my feet made it so the tops of my feet were no longer screaming in pain. Lots of Motrin, and about three days with an ACE bandage, but I’m okay. No sunburn. My hip was fine. But my feet are so sad-looking, I can’t even treat myself to a pedicure. I’m going to wait until they’re less embarrassing.

The Marathon, Part One (Miles 0-12)

“You know, your father was proud of you for more than just that race.”

“I know, Ma.”

“He just didn’t always know how to say it.”

I got up at three in the morning. Sprang from the bed, actually, when the alarms went off. (Two different alarms). I got dressed. Wrote sleeping stee a note. He woke up and took pictures of me applying sunscreen. Took a few bites of apple and made a cup of tea.

I left the iPod, as I don’t like breaking rules, walked to the elevator, decided I definitely needed the iPod and ended up knocking on the wrong door trying to get back in. Panicked, I flattened against the wall and tried not to breathe as whomever I woke up answered to see who the hell was knocking so early in the morning. Read more

Maybe I’m Crazy…

“But why do you want to do this?” my mom asked in that tone, the worried whine of motherhood.

“For a lot of reasons,” I answered. “Because I want to, and because I don’t think I can, and… well, probably because Dad and that race when I was in the third grade.”

She sighed. She remembered.

I don’t know if I wrote about this before. Probably. Yep. I totally did. It’s worth reading, because it explains things a little.

“Just be careful out there,” Mom said. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Mom, it’s 26.2 miles. It’s going to hurt.”

More sighing. “Good luck.” Read more