38,000 started the race, and we passed about a third of 'em!
My dear friend Stacey and I rocked the Las Vegas Rock and Roll Half-Marathon last week, in honor of our 40th birthdays, and we did it in world-record-setting fashion. Our feet are still hurting because we kicked so much ass… asphalt, that is, 13.1 miles of it on the Las Vegas Strip.
Actually our 40-year-old feet are still hurting (as are our knees, hips, shoulders and toes) because they are 40-year-old feet, knees hips, shoulders and toes.
Not only was my 2 hours, 44 minutes, 43 seconds good enough for a mid-pack finish (22,064th of 33,257 half-marathon finishers and 38,000 or so starters) and not only did Stacey triumph at 2:42:42 for 21,443rd place, but the Las Vegas Half-Marathon also set a World Record for the Largest Nighttime Running Event.
1) This is a spectacularly boring undertaking. There are no windows until the top and no view beyond the bottom of the person in front of you. It’s basically vertical NASCAR – 10 steps up, turn right, 10 steps up, turn right – two flights per floor. … Lather, rinse, repeat. … Lather, rinse, repeat. Until the 67th floor when you have to step out onto a landing, turn left and ascend a single, thigh-shredding 16-step flight. (YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME? 16 STAIRS? SERIOUSLY?) You would curse too if you were two-thirds of the way done, had settled into a plodding, steady, dependable rhythm and had just learned that your quadriceps were going to be run through a 16-step cheese-grater. Yes, the six extra steps made a difference, along with the fact that they decided to add a left turn to our repertoire. Ten steps up, turn left, 10 steps up, turn left – they were only about 16 floors too late to balance us out, but I figured it’d even out… until I arrived at Floor 90, when they decided to run four flights per floor: Six steps, left, six steps, left, six steps, left, six steps, left… I’m getting dizzy here. What floor are we on again?
Stairwell in one of the tallest buildings in Arizona
103 floors. 2,109 steps.
On Sunday, November 6, 2011 at 8:30 AM, I will be visiting the Sky Deck of the Willis (formerly Sears) Tower in Chicago in honor of my 40th birthday.
And I’m taking the stairs.
At that time, I’ll be 39 years, 10 months, 27 days old, and certifiably nuts. Since I’ve started training for SkyRise Chicago, I’ve learned more than non-engineers should ever know about high-rise building design. I’ve taken to trespassing on private property. I’ve confirmed my dislike of hiking Piestewa Peak, and I’ve decided there are probably more self-destructive and simultaneously less painful ways to celebrate one’s 40th birthday… like drinking heavily.
Instead, I will play out my mid-life insecurities on a grand stage – the tallest building in the Western Hemisphere and fifth-tallest building in the world – with my partner-in-crime and Team Limoncello co-founder Kellee, who has already survived passage across the threshold that is two-score, though she didn’t feel the need to achieve any great feats of super-human stupidity in doing so. But she was game to join me on this journey because it plays to her strong suit: Climbing.
And it’s for a good cause… The Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago is the charitable beneficiary of SkyRise Chicago. True to RIC’s mission, you can power-up the Tower either on foot in the stairwells (like us) or simulated via hand-cycle in the lobby, so people of varying physical abilities can attempt the climb. I’m not terribly familiar with the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago, beyond the fact that they help a lot of people and they do good research, and on November 6, 2011 at about 9:05 AM, I will be needing their services.
In order to complete the physical challenge, I have to complete their fundraising challenge – raising $150 for the cause. So I’m holding my own personal pledge drive for the stair climb: Give early, give often, give till it hurts. Or at the very least, give $21.09 – which is a penny per step; or $40 which is one dollar per year of my life; or $103 which is one dollar per floor, earning you a hand-written acknowledgement on my T-shirt as an awesome corporate sponsor of Team Limoncello.
After four months of trying and whining – and four races of trying whining – I finally put together a swim worthy of the Bad@ss Btiche$, dispatching 1,500-meters in 37 minutes, 27.5 seconds at the Rio Salado Triathlon on Saturday in TempE.coli Town Lake.
That’s good enough for a Top 4 Olympic Relay finish for the Bad@ss Bitche$ with a combined 3 hours, 20 minutes, 59.4 seconds – just 8 minutes off the podium.
Yes, there were only five teams competing in the Olympic Relay, and no, you were not among them – nor did you heroically overcome a brush with atrial fibrillation when I came out of the water 20 minutes ahead of schedule, then recover gamely and crush it on the 24.6-mile bike, only to suffer betrayal at the hands of your feet on the 6.2-mile run. That would be my teammate Kristi: She’s been carrying my not-so-Bad@ss throughout this little triathlon adventure. I only wish I could have returned the favor and piggybacked her well-toned-@ss across the finish line.
$%^# - That's gonna sting!
And that’s the thing about triathlons: You may dominate one event – in my case, the swim – only to have another come back and bite you in your previously bad@ss – in her case, the run – but since this blog is all about me, we’ll just go ahead and relive the amazing stroke-by-stroke account of my 1,500-meter feat of aquatic domination.
Today I returned to your concrete shores to test my swimming skills at Splash N Dash, Race 3 – 1,000 meters of lake-bound excitement plus 5,000 meters of running fun.
Unfortunately I also finished last. Dead last. 80th place of 80 contestants. Last, as in, they shut down the course after I crossed the finish line, took my requisite bow, and then tripped over the loudspeakers en route to collapsing in the abandoned transition area.
