Eating Breakfast Is The Best Revenge

The real highlight of the day.

My day ended at about 1 today. That's when I put on sweatpants. (Reunited and it feels so gooood.)

But it's cool because I was up at 8 this morning getting ready for the Heart Mini. Translation: Drinking coffee and sleepily making excuses why I should skip the three miles of torture in the wind and rain and go back to bed. I felt like I had a pretty good excuse - I wasn't feeling well. :)

Last night Adam and I went to see the Ballet's Sinatra Suite & More. It was fantastic, and afterwards we went to Nada.

Nada is seriously my favorite restaurant in Cincinnati. I don't think I could ever get tired of eating there. But let me tell ya... Chips, salsa, guacamole, their rich chicken tacos and creamy poblano mac & cheese all washed down with a potent Nadarita was perhaps not the best idea the night before an early run.

I still felt full when I woke up. Grabbing my belly I groaned to Adam, "Ugh. I feel kinda sick. And it's raining. I think I'll just watch you today." Then he was all, "No. You'll be fine."

God. What a jerk.

I did alright though, pretty much the same as I did last year. Only this year it was rainy, windy and I had to stop and tie my shoes - twice! (These stops added exactly 46 seconds to my time, according to Adam's Garmin.) He ran with me and was supposed to be pacing me to awesomeness, but, note to self, he's not a very good pacer for anyone but himself. All things considered though it was a run/walk victory and I'm glad I didn't punk out. *confetti!*

It seemed like running with me (and having to carry all my crap on his back as we went) was a good warm-up for Adam because he totally dominated the 15k.

Last year he ran it in 1:05 but had been talking smack recently about how he wasn't sure if he'd do as well.

I rolled my eyes and said, "If you're not going to beat your time from last year I don't know why you'd even bother showing up." (Cause I'm supportive, y'all.) (Note: This rule does not apply to yours truly, of course.)

Last month our friend Dave had talked all sorts of trash about crushing Adam in this year's Mini. We were at Dave's birthday party when this went down, and clearly Dave had had a few shots to think such silliness, but I'd had a few Miller Lite's myself so I was all, "You better kiss your momma at the bus stop, Kohake,'cause my man is going to take you to school!"

Then we bet $20.

Adam, feigning disgust that I was intending to make twenty bucks off his conditioning was all, "Wait a second! What are you getting me in to?!" Then Dave and I were all, "Stay out of this, Iker!"

Or something like that.

Anyway, my honor $20 was on the line, so you know, he had to bring it. Aaand he did. Adam sailed to the finish in an easy 1:04 and came out of the chute telling me how great he felt the whole time. (Yeah me too dude. Remember those few moments when I wasn't crying. I felt great in those moments.)

I'm going to spend the $20 he earned me on a Graeter's gift card so we can get strawberry ice-cream waffle cones. Victory!

But who cares about $20 in ice-cream?!

The real highlight of the day for me was watching PJ Ball finish. (Link is to an article about her '04 Flying Pig win.)

About 30 feet from the finish line today she threw her arms up into the air and went to the side of the road and started spitting and gagging. I could see a big string of saliva/vomit/something coming out of her mouth.

Then she squatted down onto her feet, put her hands on the pavement and just let it rip. BLAHHHH! Vomit everywhere. It. Was. Awesome. (It's my dream to some day run so hard that I throw up at the finish.)

Out of nowhere her boyfriend, Swarthy (aka Brian), popped out onto the street and ran over to her yelling, "Are you ok?!" She finished throwing up, started running again and Swarthy patted her on the back like, "All right, go get 'em."

It was the coolest thing I've ever seen at a race.

When I saw them coming out of the chute I practically attacked her. "PJ that was so awesome that you threw up! Wow you're hard core!"

Then I felt kinda bad because she was obviously embarrassed about it. (I can assure you if this ever happens to me I will be beaming with pride.) Apparently it's PJ's thing to throw up at finishes, usually in the chute though, she said. I told her it totally rocked my world and Swarthy noted, "I've never run so hard in my life that I threw up at the end."

We agreed she's freakin' a rock star. Even with throwing up she ran her last mile in 6:48 and finished in the top five among the women. Pa-POW.

After the race Adam and I brunched at Dan and Gretchen's and greedily filled our plates with some of Gretchen's crack-tastic spinach, egg and mushroom casserole. If I could cook I would cook just like Gretchen. Yum.

Once we got home I reenacted PJ's vomit scene for Adam on Stettinius Street, complete with kneeling and sound effects. Adam goes, "I can't believe you didn't get a picture of that. I'm so disappointed in you."

I hung my head in shame. "I'm disappointed in me too."

UPDATE: Adam's take on the Heart-Mini. And in essence, how he kicked its ass.