Drop It Like It's Hot.

So. Last weekend, I ran my 12th Tufts 10K in eighty degree weather.

The picture below was taken during the kids 1K race, held about two hours before the start of the real 6.2 miles. Look at how pleased and jaunty I am! About three hours later, I was practically shuffling over the Mass Ave bridge, completely exhausted and bedraggled. (That link is for you, Heather. What happened to Andrae?) That afternoon and evening, I was nauseated and kept complaining about a dull, thumping headache. Which was probably a wee bit of heat exhaustion, because I was the moron who didn't drink more than a cup of water before the race. I had a coffee instead. Dope.

I was glad that we made it early enough to take part in the kids' 1k, which Marley sort of wanted to run and sort of didn't. She has some sweet C9 kids' gear from Target, all pink and purple, but she refused to wear it. She didn't even want to wear the bib number, because it would first poke holes in and then cover up her new Hello Kitty t-shirt. I mean, that kid is not really interested in breaking a sweat. At all.

My time was terrible. I ran my best race ever last year, and this year my mile splits were almost a minute longer. I blame the unseasonal warmth, first of all. And second of all, how about my not running more than three miles at once since, I don't know, June? I mean, I'm all strong and fit from boot camp, which ended last week after about seven months, but I am not lithe or speedy. No sirree.

Also, while Todd was hanging out with Marley and Toot in strategic "Cheer on Your Weary Mommy" spots, first on Beacon Street and later on Commonwealth Avenue, he realized, only upon seeing Lambie perched on an iron wrought fence waiting for her owner, that they must have dropped that precious Rudy friend on the olde-timey-bricked sidewalks of Boston sometime earlier. Good grief.