Posts Tagged ‘margarita’

Even though I couldn’t say Mmm no thanks to the luscious pour of a sauvignon blanc at lunch yesterday before my 3-miler, I got a sharp sort of pleasure out of being the abstemious martyr at our imprint’s dinner party last night.

 “No no, I’m not drinking tonight. I have to run seven miles before my flight home tomorrow.”

Seven miles? Whatever for?”

“I’m training for the New York City Marathon.”

And that about ended that, as I wiped Pellegrino off my nose, and smiled tightly at their glazed eyes and loose-fleshed countenances. I seem more hostile than I actually was, because really, I was just bitter. I wanted to have wine. In fact, I wanted a margarita, a champagne cocktail, and then a second margarita. Not only because they taste yummy, but also because getting drunk would have taken the edge off of the relentless boredom. I’d spent all week with these colleagues of mine, and I was tapped out of small talk. My one attempt at starting an interesting conversation with the Popular Kids (okay, maybe the midget joke was a little inappropriate) fell flat. When left in these situations, I have three strategies:

  1. Become the event’s roving photographer. No need to chat when you’re snapping candid shots.
  2. Lean nonchalantly against a railing, a centrally-located wall, or posh chair. Survey the scene, cultivate an aura of bemused aloofness. This kills about 10 minutes.
  3. Charm someone senseless. Pick one person who looks equally as bored and turn your entire will to making them like you. The tougher the nut, the more time and concentration this will take.

Anyway, I survived, and was able to extract myself around 9 PM, be back in my hotel by 9:30, and packed and in bed by 10. Alarm set for 6 AM. Eight and a half hours later, I stepped out of the hotel into the crisp, sunny San Francisco Saturday morning, and a grin crept across my face. The best kind of grin-the kind you get when your ride car is poised at the top of the steepest hill of the rollercoaster, or when you check into your suite in Vegas with a wad of cash in your pocket, or when you fit into your Tier One skinny jeans three weeks in a row. Only good things to come. I knew where I was going; the route was the same as Wednesday. Except today, I had to take this run at race pace. Even though the weather chick on Channel 4 said the temperature was about 58 degrees, I was pouring sweat by Mile 3. It was fantastic. I held my effort level for the whole run, saw scads of other runners out there (one was super-yum, doing his hill training in Fort Mason Hill Park), and was so, so grateful I’d stuck with water the evening before. I ran about seven miles in 1:07:07, slower than my goal pace for the half (I hope to do 9’s) but pretty on target for the marathon. But the real joy of the seven miles? Not a single word of small talk, and not a moment’s worth of boredom.

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