On Saturday, December 10, the first leg of the Polar Bear Grand Prix was held in Cherokee Park. At 2.4 miles, the Reindeer Romp 4k was just short enough to get a body all worked up, but not long enough to cause anyone’s bowels to triumphantly evacuate upon reaching the finish line.
Because there’s nothing chicks dig more than a guy who’s into journaling, I’ve decided to document my experience during each race of the Grand Prix. I’ve also decided to drag my 11-year old daughter along with me; not so much for the bonding, but because I am totally confident that running will be the thing that kills me. That way I’m certain that someone can ask me, “Pat, do you have any regrets in life,” to which I’ll respond, “Running.”
7:00 a.m. – The alarm goes off and I bound out of bed. My first thought is that it must be Wednesday as I don’t seem to have a hangover. Upon realizing that it’s race day, I begin mentally preparing myself for the super hangover I’m now required to have Sunday morning.
7:20 a.m. – Time for a runner’s breakfast – six waffles and a 32 oz. glass of chocolate milk. My kid is giving me her “judgment face,” as if she’s some sort of dietary expert. Seriously – you wanted gum for dinner last night. I’m so going to smoke her in this race.
7:36 a.m. – While performing a stretch that makes me feel very self-conscious, I vomit up a bit of waffle. I think in Kenya that’s considered good luck.
7:39 a.m. – After what just occurred in the bathroom, I am now officially the luckiest person in the history of Kenya.
8:00 a.m. – We load up the car and head to Cherokee Park.
8:02 a.m. – I stop the car after realizing we both forgot to bring hats, gloves, and jackets. It is 25 degrees outside. We might be too stupid for this race.
8:59 a.m. – Because we live in Indiana and must now fight our away across the Ohio River like it’s freaking Mad Max’s Thunderdome, we arrive at Cherokee Park in the nick of time. I slow down just enough so my kid can jump out near the starting line (don’t worry, like all Fawcetts, she instinctively knows how to go limp). I slam the breaks and T.J. Hooker it over the hood of my car. We have officially arrived. Prepare to suck it, fellow runners.
9:00 a.m. – AND WE’RE OFF!
9: 02 a.m. – Dear God, it’s cold. Fortunately, we went back home and grabbed hats, gloves, and jackets. Unfortunately, they are still sitting in the backseat of my car. If anyone chooses to make a Forrest Gump reference this morning, it will not be because we are speedy runners.
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