Run Now, Margs Later

my lucky running poncho, ready to rock

First St. Patrick's Day, and now Cindo de Mayo; the two best drinking holidays falling on a Saturday? 2018 is lit (is that still something people say? asking for a friend) Brent and I knew just what we had to do: sign up for a 5k on May 6. Drinking Coronas and shoveling free bar popcorn in your mouth all night naturally lends itself to  a 7 a.m. wake-up call to mill around the starting line for 3.1 miles alongside the hungover masses, collectively running on taco and tequila fumes.

Brent and I have sworn off 5k's; something about paying to wake up early and stand in line to use a gross bathroom before running 3.1 miles next to people who don't have the common courtesy to move to the side of the road when they want to come to a complete stop just grates on you after awhile. Certain circumstances, like a local charity or good cause, will suck us back in. Sweet race swag also does the trick.

When I got the email to REGISTER BEFORE THE PRICE INCREASE! for the Cinco de Miles, I skimmed the email. The quarter-zip tech shirt caught my eye. The post-race party with live music and food piqued my interest. The free margarita and beer tickets that came with our registration were all I needed to see; we were running this race, whether Brent knew it or not.

The 5k on Sunday was in New Hampshire, about 15 minutes from Brent's parents house, so we headed up the night before. Saturday was gorgeous, bright and sunny, without any of the gross humidity that had been lingering earlier in the week. Of course I spent half of it holed up inside at work, but we made it up to New Hampshire around 5pm to start our Cinco de Mayo fiesta. Brent is a huge fan of the Kentucky Derby, so between that, the Celtics playoff game, and the Coronoas, he was pretty amped. The Celtics winning in overtime didn't hurt; suffice to say, we were in pretty high spirits Saturday night.

Fast forward to Sunday morning around 3am, when I'm tossing and turning and realizing I can't drink like I used to and have any normal semblance of sleep. After a rough night, I wake up red eyed and beer breathed, cursing Brent and his brilliant idea to run a race on the day after Cinco de Drinko. 

After sitting in traffic, waiting in line for another 20 minutes to use a port-a-potty, and being elbowed by all the "elite" runners in the 9-10 minute pace bracket, we were ready to skip the run altogether and head to the post-race margarita tent. All that grumbling must have fueled some kind of fire in us though, because we ran a new 5k PR, coming in under 27 minutes. I'd like to take a minute to thank all the spectators along the course, donning sombreros and shaking mariachis, shouting "arriba, arriba!" This really helped awaken my inner Speedy Gonzales. 

The post race party offered the normal banana and yogurt spread. The chips and salsa were a nice touch, along with the tall boy Cornoas you got with your drink ticket instead of the typical solo cup that sloshes half its contents on other runners' sneakers before you get your first sip. The highlight of my morning were the margaritas. I don't know if it was all the salt, the tequila, or the fact that the guy taking tickets asked to see our ID's at a point in my life when I looked hungover and haggard AF, but those margs really hit the spot.