Will Run for Color

Saturday was my first 5K ever. Yes, I understand that this is something that any able-bodied 29-year-old should have already done before. I regularly run five kilometers on my own. But most 5Ks always seemed so ... blah. Shelling out bucks for a cheap t-shirt and the chance to run down a road? Um, I went to college, so I'm stocked up on Men's Large t-shirts. And I also have access to roads. So, sorry 5K. You're 0 for 2. And don't try throwing that "the money goes to charity" angle at me. I'm not easily fooled.

So when a coworker suggested an upcoming 5K, I planned to pass. Until I saw that it was a COLOR Run 5K, advertised as "The Happiest 5K on the Planet!"

From the official Color Run website:

"The Color Run is a one of a kind experience that is less about speed and more about enjoying a color crazy day with your friends and family. The Color Run pretty much has 2 SIMPLE rules. 1. White shirts mandatory at the start line and 2. Color plastered EVERYTHING at the finish!  Runner/walkers begin the 5k at the start line like a brand new pristine coloring book, they end looking like they fell into a Willy Wonka… tie dyed… vat of colored goodness. Each kilometer of the event is associated with a designated color.  As the runners/walkers hit the Kilometer COLOR RUN Zones, they will be blitzed by our volunteers, sponsors, and staff with COLOR.  The color is a special “elf made” recipe of magical color dust that's 100% natural and safe to eat, although we don't recommend it."

You mean, I get to walk around downtown and get splashed with color? I'M IN.

So on an early Saturday morning, a rag-tag group of misfit advisors and emotionally obliged spouses (nicknamed Team YAFABULOUS) gathered Downtown to GET. OUR. COLOR. ON. Since the participant instructions mentioned that runners/walkers would be released in waves, we decided to arrive super early so we could ensure we were in the first group. Our rationale was that the more responsible, mature participants (e.g. people our age) would arrive earlier and the crazier, more spastic participants (e.g. crazy, irresponsible college kids) would roll out of bed and arrive closer toward the end. Plus, we planned to enjoy the morning and walk the 5K. You know, really soak in the colorific nature of the "race." However, there was one exception:

Notice the gentleman in the left of the picture? The one with the Game Face on?

That's Barry.

Barry didn't come here to enjoy the color. He came to kick color's ass.

In his defense, Barry was roped into the 5K via a legally binding marital obligation, since his wife Lindsay was excited to run. He was fine with running a 5K. What he was not fine with was the idea of being doused with colored powdered by dirty hipster college students with no respect for order or authority. (I may have editorialized his reasoning a bit. Regardless, he was staunchly Anti-Color.) So Barry's Number One Goal for The Color Run was to finish the run with the least amount of color on himself. He was going to defy The Color Run from being what its basic nature employs it to be: fun and fancy-free.

(Also, he borrowed some goggles from one of our department's lab supervisors to provide full eye protection. I thought they looked like a little overkill. It turned out that Barry would be the one who laughed last.)

Despite our early start, the race setup was a little disorganized and we found out that we were actually waiting in FRONT of the starting line and had to head to the back. Eventually we weaved our way closer to the front and were set to be released in Wave Two, which wasn't too bad. We got to take in the enthusiastic Color Runners we would be enjoying the morning with: ladies rocking mohawks, gentlemen rocking tutus, and a disturbing amount of children. Seriously. I understand that the website listed the color powder as "100% organic and non-toxic," but still. It's fine dust particles that doesn't seem like the wisest substance to dump into a still-developing creature's respiratory and optical systems. Then again, I'm not a parent. Just an aunt. Hey, maybe it's good to give the kid something to overcome. Builds character. One kid was being held up above the crowd like either a sacrificial offering to the color gods or a reenactment of Simba's presentation in The Lion King. Ever the optimist, I'm hoping for Disney on that choice.

One important little detail: The Color Run was an exercise in restraint. For example, each participant was given an individual packet of color powder and was instructed to hold off on throwing it until the very end of the race, where everyone could be doused in a Super Duper Color Explosion that wound up reminding me of a nuclear mushroom cloud. A 100% natural and organic mushroom cloud.

Well, one of the tweens standing beside us in the starting gate just couldn't hold it in any longer. Fifteen minutes before the race was set to start... BOOM! Pink color bomb. Now, the Color Run website had instructed us to wear sunglasses or some type of protective eye wear. But we figured we didn't need to put those on until, you know, the race actually started. So Mary took some pink dust right in the eyeball and got to spend the rest of the run looking like she had the worst case of conjunctivitis ever recorded in human history.

 (I know you can't quite see it in this picture, but trust me. It was a doppelganger to full-on pink eye.)

After seeing the first set of runners off, and listening to multiple prods by the emcee at the starting line to start the "wave" down the street of runners ... it was time.

WE'RE OFF!

After about twenty yards of "pretend running" (you know, where your gate is technically running but your actual pace is the speed of mall walking) the rest of our group waved goodbye to Barry and his wife and we settled into a nice walking pace. It wasn't too long before I spied clouds in the distance ... our first color zone.

BLUE!!!!

Before we get there, we all notice an interesting figure perched on the side of a building. Do you spy it?

Yes, that is a "man" in a red hoodie straining to pull a keg out of the side of a building. You gotta admire his determination.

At the first color zone, we learned how these magical color moments would work: very brave volunteers stood on either side of the zone with buckets / troughs / wheelbarrows filled with colored powder which they would throw / shake / powder-bomb at runners as you went by. How "colorful" you got depended on a) how close you ran to the volunteers, and b) how much repressed anger said volunteers were attempting to purge on this fine morning. Blue Zone Rating: mild residual rage.

After the first color zone, we had a bit of a jaunt before getting to the next stop, so we settled into a nice walking grove in one of the more charmingly quaint neighborhoods downtown. I've lived in this city for ten years and buzzed past all of these streets countless times. That's the one thing about living in a easily drivable city: that ease means you rarely walk many places. Something about walking all of these streets felt really special. I spied so many things I had never noticed before.

Halfway to Zone 2, as I was taking in the adorably antiqued houses of the neighborhood, I spied some festive bunting draped across a balcony on one of the houses. Exactly like the bunting I had seen in pictures a coworker had posted on Facebook. In fact, she looks exactly like that woman eating breakfast right underneath that bunting!

"HEY, JENNIFER! IT'S SUANO D. FROM THE COLLEGE OF ENGINEERING!"

Now I should make note that I have talked with this person numerous times at work and we have established a witting thumbs-upping repertoire on Facebook. So yes, I understand that the fact that I included my full name and place of work in my salutation seems overly formal. But ... she was at least 30 yards away. We were out of the context of the workplace. And I was covered in splotches of pink and blue. I felt the additional identifying information was critical. But yes, it was also awkward.

Made even more awkward when I immediately turned to my fellow teammates and shouted, "HEY GUYS, LOOK! IT'S JENNIFER I FROM STUDENT ADVOCACY!"

In my defense, that prompted rousing cheers from our group AND a random group of runners right behind us. Who wouldn't cheer for advocacy?

After that somewhat embarrassing moment, the Color Run clicked into a lovely morning walk with friends, admiring city streets and occasionally being pelted with color. Most zones went by without a hitch (peach, pink) while others had a more aggressive approach. I am, of course, referring to Zone Orange.

I don't know who pissed this guy off, but halfway through the zone a member of the Orange Ninja Foot Clan bounced out of nowhere and pelted a softball-sized dose of powder directly behind my ear. Which is possibly the least attractive color of the entire run. I would have been more than happy with a nice dollop of purple or green on my neck, but orange? It just looks like I ate an entire bag of Cheetos and kept wiping me coated fingers on my neck between handfuls.

By the end of the run we were pretty well covered, but one last color bomb made sure that everyone on the team got doused.

+=

By the last color zone, we had taken over an hour to walk five kilometers. So, of course it was picture time! I was ruthless in my attempt to get a freeze frame. You know, the picture where everyone jumps in the air and the skilled photographer snaps the shutter at the height of the leap? Yeah, my camera became filled with pictures of our team crouching in preparation to jump or standing expectantly post-jump. Eventually everyone became uber annoyed with my persistence and we parted ways. Luckily, one of our walker's photographically competent husband came by and finally captured our joy mid-air as we headed to the parking lot to leave.

Oh, and I know what you're wondering. Hey, Suano, how did you get home? Didn't you get color powder all over your car? Never fear, kind and emotionally-involved reader. I had it all figured out:

Trash bag hammer pants. Full protection for car seat upholstery AND retro fashion statement. Two birds, say hello to my one little stone.

  

I'm sure you're also wondering how Barry did. No surprisingly, he and his wife beat our time by at least 20 minutes. He apparently made it through the entire run with hardly any color wounds, although he did have to hurdle a few imbecile morons who were rolling on the ground of the color zones in a pitiful attempt to gather up more color. (No editorializing on that one. Pretty much verbatim.) However, since he didn't read the online FAQ about The Color Run he didn't know about the "color bomb" at the end of the race when runners all shake out color packets.  So ....

Barry down.



All in all, a fabulous day walking through clouds of color down the streets of a wonderful city! If The Color Run is coming to your town, I highly recommend you join in! Just don't plan on doing a serious, timed 5K. And do pack your lab goggles.

*****

P.S. Here's a little tip from a seasoned Color Runner: most of the colors are really easy to clean off. EXCEPT Blue. Blue is a color-clinging son-of-a-bitch. Somewhere along the run, unbeknownst to me, an entire wheelbarrow of Blue was chucked down my sleeve. So I got to spend a lovely twenty minutes furiously scrubbing Blue out of my armpit. Oh Blue, why must you hurt so good?

Classic Donna G

Warning: Noncreators, you may want to stay away from this short post. Either you won't understand it (which makes it a complete waste of time to read) or you will understand it (which makes it a completely horrifying thing to read.)

(On the other hand, Procreators, you may want to stay away as well. Unless you enjoy reliving the more macabre moments of the miracle of life. If that's the case, read on.)

My parents have an old family friend I will call Donna G. The reason I am calling her Donna G and not by her full name will become clear in about 45 seconds. Every Fourth of July my mom and dad get together with Donna G, Mr. Donna G, and my aunt and uncle for a rousing evening of dinner, story swapping, and fireworks. They love bragging that they stayed out past ten on a weeknight. I love hearing the post-game recap, since every Independence Day includes a moment when Donna G shares an anecdote so shockingly unfiltered that it triggers a reaction stronger than any Roman candle explosion. 2012 was no exception:

While my mom was forcing everyone to coo over pictures of her favorite two-month-old granddaughter, Donna G asked how the delivery and labor went. My mom said it went just fine.

Donna G: "Did your daughter say anything weird? You know how it is, how you kind of say things that you would normally never say? In fact, I said when that doctor was stitching me up, 'What are you doing, embroidering your NAME down there?' "

And now that is something that you can never un-know.

Classic Donna G. Pure, unadulterated shock and awe.

Roughin' It

After a long week of late nights spent at the office, I snuck out early Friday afternoon. I bounded into my house, body brimming with energy and mental checklist brimming with long-overdue tasks (groceries, cleaning, mowing, weeding, crocheting). It was going to be a glorious weekend of rebooting, and I wasn't about to let a minute go to waste!

I threw off my work uniform (sundress and cardigan), threw on my weekend uniform (yoga pants ... glorious, glorious yoga pants) and tossed my grocery list in a bag. Then I walked by a window and saw my neighbor's lawn furniture bouncing across the backyard like tumbleweed.

Hmm, I had noticed that it seemed a little dim outside for a late afternoon summer. But it hadn't occurred to me that a storm might be abrewin'.

At 4:30, the first clap of thunder boomed out. At 4:31, the power went out.

Being a fan of thunderstorms, I assumed the best. What a great chance to light up my decorative candles from Bath and Body Works! I set about to scrounge up a box of matches to light the wicks. Why, I could finish my shopping list by candlelight. How quaint! Very Little House on the Prairie. Then, when the power came back on, I could roll back into the 21st century and head to the local supermarket. Just a minor setback to my weekend of productivity.

Two hours later, the power was still out. And the charm was starting to erode. I wondered what could be taking so long for the lights to flicker back on. After checking my breaker box for blown fuses (no luck) I decided to open up windows and doors and let some fresh air into the house.

That's when I spotted the tree across the street laying across my neighbor's van.

Downside: so maybe this storm was worse than I thought.

Upside: large-scale property damage is a great ice breaker! It gave me an easy conversation starter with my neighbor of a year to whom I had never actually spoken. There is a silver lining to every cloud. Even clouds with 80+ mile-an-hour wind gusts.

After helping my neighbor's kids pull some of the branches and trunk splinters off their driveway so they could start up a rousing game of basketball, I walked back across the street and headed inside.

And began a week-long catastrophe of 19th century living.

So here's a fun fact about me. I apparently have no idea which devices in my house use electricity and which devices function just fine without it. For example: I understood that my refrigerator would no longer be able refrigerate. (Sometimes the name of the appliance helps.) Obviously, some of the food items would spoil if the power didn't come back on in a few hours. Not wanting food to go to waste, I speed-opened the door (a sport in which I could now go pro) and grabbed the egg carton. Scrambled eggs sounded nice and yummy! Oh, wait. I have an electric stove top. Well, maybe they would turn out moderately edible if I nuked them. I cracked three, whipped them up in a bowl, and popped them into the microwave. Oh, wait. Yeah, that's not going to work either. In fact, there was no possible way to cook these eggs short of setting the skillet out on the sidewalk and hoping the 90+ weather fried them up. I dumped the eggs down the kitchen sink and flipped the switch for the garbage disposal. Oh wait...

On the opposite side of the spectrum, I spent a full two minutes staring at my toilet, trying to figure out if any part of it required electricity to flush.

All in all, the first night and next morning weren't too bad. After the egg fiasco, I feasted on a dinner of strawberries and a cake frosting. Yes, I understand that the cake frosting would not have spoiled. I stand by my decision. I spent the evening putting actual pen to paper, writing in my journal. I reread a few of my favorite essays from the (recently) late and (always) great Nora Ephron.

However, I quickly learned another delightful lesson: the number of scented candles it takes to light my living room is the exact same number of scented candles that make my living room unbearably scented. By 9PM the charming glow of the candles was trumped by their toxic fumes. None of them were playing nice. French Vanilla, usually so sweet, was rapidly turning sickening. Eucalyptus Mint started creeping into aftershave territory. And Moonlight Path was bitch-slapping the weak-willed Dancing Waters all over the living room. My sense of smell trumped my sense of sight and I puffed out the aromatic assault weapons and headed to bed.



Which means that I woke up bright and chipper at 6AM. Bursting with energy but without anything to do.



My lighting scheme for the weekend.



Candles became a recurring theme over the next few days.  Taking a shower ... by candlelight. Washing dishes by hand ... by candlelight. Washing laundry by stomping on it in the tub like smashing grapes ... by candlelight. Come to think of it, given slightly different circumstances, this would have been an incredibly romantic weekend. You know, if I hadn't been by myself in a overheated and under-entertaining house. But my bathroom has never smelled more "in the mood."

Then again, the event did bring me much closer with one particular item: my iPhone. As long as it still had juice, things weren't too bad! No television or radio? No problem. Just pulled up some Netflix videos and a Pandora station. Flashlight batteries go out? No problem. Just downloaded a flashlight app. I've never loved an inanimate object so much in my life. In fact, it may have surpassed my obsession with the Southwest Chicken sandwich. (Sorry, Southie, but you abandoned me for the summer. And out of sight = out of mind.)

But even iPhone couldn't save me entirely. By Day Three of the blackout, I discovered that power wasn't likely to be restored for another four days. Which, coincidentally, was at the same time that I discovered a few other things that didn't work without electricity: my common sense, my emotional stability, and my general sense of humanity and goodness of others. All emotional capacities were running on auto pilot. A very curt pilot with dead, soulless eyes.

And that's when I discovered the Fridge Catastrophe of 2012.

My refrigerator is pretty old, as refrigerators go. I'm sure it was state-of-the-art back when it was rolled into the house in 1987. But its crisp white frame had faded to a dingy yellow and the ice dispenser boasted orange stains around its spout. She'd seen a lot of culinary victories and defeats in her old age. Still, I figured the hunk of metal would be pretty well sealed, seeing as it looked like it could have survived the London Blitz. So you can imagine my surprise when I walked into my kitchen on Day 3 and felt a splash.

Okay. So I understand that, after three days, I should have anticipated that everything in my freezer and fridge were shot. I understand that NOW. But, at the time, it was sooooo hooooooot. And I was soooo booooooored. Hanging out at my aunt's air-conditioned house or watching the latest Real Housewives of An Urban Area with my cousin sounded so much more appealing. By the time I got back home, water had leaked out of the fridge and seeped into the hardwood (okay, wood laminate) floor, making the corners of each piece curl up like a library book left out in the rain. I didn't panic. At first. I just calmly got the last three dry towels in the house (the rest were steeping in the washer that had stopped mid-cycle) and started blotting up the water right in front of the fridge. Then I spotted some puddles over by the table. And by the stove. And in front of the dishwasher.

And THAT'S when Suano lost it.

Kneeling on the floor, surrounded by trash bags of spoiled food, pushing water around with soaked rags (by candlelight), my own tears adding to the condensation... I would so not cut it during any other time in history. If I couldn't handle a bubbled floor and some potent candle fumes, then really, what epic historical events could I really survive? Shopping chaos on Black Friday makes me sweat just thinking about it.

So, on Day Four, I admitted defeat I packed my bags, parked my stuff at my cousin's house, and headed back to my parents' home for an extended weekend stay. And, after taking a well-lit shower and recharging all my electronics, being home put things into perspective. Maybe there are seven stages of grief when mourning the loss of electricity:

*** P.S. UPDATE

I HAVE POWER!

I have never been happier to get a text. My neighbor sent me a message that the electricity has finally been restored.

Yes, I have her name in my phone as "Sheila Neighbor."

Yes, that is because I don't know her last name. There was a tree down on a vehicle. We didn't go in-depth on contact information.

Little Lexi was happy to see her Aunt Suano this weekend, but she was SO excited that Aunt Suano got power back that she did a little dance to celebrate.

I give you ... the Got Power Dance.

She could power a village with the sheer wattage of her cuteness.