The results are out! My friend Arnie sent out an email blast yesterday morning to our little running group. I was so excited to check the results because the race organizers promised a whole lot of info, tracked by the disposable microchip we put on our shoes. I was a bit peeved when I saw that they classified me as male and unknown.
They had run out of 10K race bibs and gave me a 21K race bib. I knew it was an info mishap waiting to happen.
The nice thing is they remedied the mistake right away. Sent in an email with my info and when I checked again in the evening, my info was right.
Here it is!
This is definitely one of the nicest races I've been in. Must be challenging for race organizers to keep on coming up with new things to spice up the next race. Tough to keep people happy.
But I'm really happy with the race. Not a lot of bells and whistles (I loved the musicians during the Happy Run), save for the microchip, but overall it was well-organized and for a good cause too.
I have been meaning to write about what happened that Sunday after the race. Just been very busy. I've some spare time now so I think I'll start writing about it.
The Accidental First-time Drunk.
After the race, C and I looked for a breakfast place. Pancake House was full (both branches inside Fort) and I wasn't in the mood for fastfood, so we ended up in Max's Tiendesitas. Nothing like good old fashioned Pinoy breakfast to cap a tiring morning.
After breakfast, we went to church (yes, without even showering!). We figured we'd go anyway, despite not having showered. We'd be too lazy to leave the house once we got there.
After church, we had to drop by the birthday party of the eldest son of my younger cousin. Patrick is 14. My younger cousin has a 14 year old and I haven't even started having kids yet! Haha.
We got home around 23opm. It was a warm day and I thought I'd make an ice cold pineapple rhum cocktail. It was the perfect time to have a cocktail: to celebrate a good race day and I had no run the next day.
I don't drink a lot. Growing up, my parents didn't forbid alcohol in the house. We drank beer or wine with our meals and I distinctly remember having a bottoms-up beer contest with my parents when I was in grade school. Yes, grade school.
This early exposure to alcohol must've made me less prone to abusing it.
But I do like cocktails a lot and also love being tipsy. I usually just giggle a lot and divulge other people's secrets. Haha.
So I made pineapple rhum cocktails. Two parts pineapple juice, one part rhum. Two tall glasses. But C didn't want any so I ended up almost finishing the two tall glasses. Almost, because after the first glass, I was giggly and 3/4 of the way through the second glass, the world was spinning.
We were watching The Man In The Moon on TV and I was munching on Kettle Chips Salt and Pepper.
Looking back, I think my downfall was not eating anything after the Max's breakfast. Potato chips don't hold alcohol well. I had to find out the hard way.
So we were watching a young Reese Witherspoon in the throes of young love and I realized I couldn't understand what I was watching. It was like the characters were talking in slow motion and I was zooming in and out on the screen. You get the picture.
C walked me to our room and left me there to sleep. I thought that was it. That I'd doze off and wake up a few hours after. Not quite. I was far from tipsy, I realized. I was in a drunken black hole.
The whole world was dark and spinning. Like scenes from Fight Club (grainy, scratchy and dark), done Blair Witch Project-style.
I tried closing my eyes but things just got worse. It was like I was being sucked into a dark, freeze-frame hole only to be spit out and sucked in again. Over and over. It was horrible.
Then I started feeling queasy. Afraid of messing up the sheets, I stumbled to the bathroom and slumped on the floor, my head on the bathroom mat outside and my body inside. I remember thinking: this mat smells like Scout (our Beagle). I was sleeping on a smelly mat and I didn't care. That was how HORRIBLE I felt.
I was thinking I had to get the alcohol out. Finally I threw up into the toilet bowl. Twice. Long ago, in my ditzy little world, I thought that people in movies who threw up into the toilet bowl were cute and having a blast. It definitely wasn't cute for me.
Looking back, it wasn't as gross as I thought it would be. Remember, my head was in total darkness. My senses were shot and I think I couldn't see nor smell anything. I just knew it was not a pretty sight to have my face in the toilet bowl.
After throwing up, I slumped to the floor and the smelly mat again. This time though, my heart was beating so fast that I got scared something would happen and no one was there to help me. I kept calling out to C but he couldn't hear me. Scenes from old ER episodes came flashing through my blurry mind. Yes, I know... I was overreacting. It was my first time to get drunk so I panicked.
I mustered enough strength (and balance) to leave the bedroom and walk to the spare room where C was watching TV. The day after when we talked about what happened, C said I looked so pale and soooo very drunk he had to stifle a laugh. I was really out of it.
He managed to let me drink some water but for the life of me, I didn't have the urge to pee. I just slumped again on the spare bed and fell asleep.
I woke up six hours after. C had had dinner on his own. He said I was so out of it and was snoring so loud, it was hilarious.
It was such a horrible experience that I don't think I'll be touching rhum any time soon. Well, maybe rhum cake isn't such a bad idea.
Thinking (and laughing) about it now, I'm kinda grateful I got to experience that. I still get to have a lot of first-times, even at 36. See, Gina... turning 30 is just the beginning. :)