I love ladybugs. Lady bugs are good luck and they always cheer me up. They seem to be attracted to me as well. They land on me when I am running. I find them on my car. I even recently met a very lucky little ladybug on the sand in Santa Monica. Let me tell you the story of how I came to find this little ladybug.
My best friend Krista and I took a much needed vacation to Santa Monica for a long weekend. We went under the guise of running a half marathon. In all fairness, we did in fact sign up to run a half marathon. The 13.1 Half Marathon-Los Angeles to be specific. We had our cab driver take us to the “expo”. Our cab driver was an LA cholo who decided mid cab ride that he needed to introduce us to a new comedian. We listened for 5 minutes to vulgar cursing and racial slurs before there was even a joke. Meanwhile our cab driver is yelling out the window to people standing on the corners. “Hey Brittany” was especially memorable. We left our belongings with the cab driver while we ran into the cute running store to get our shirts and race numbers. Too bad we were so worried about our stuff in the cab that we couldn’t shop. That store had some cute stuff. Finally, off to the hotel for some pool time and resting up for our big run.
We really did have every intention of running the half marathon until two glasses of Chardonnay at the hotel pool brought the utter foolishness of our goals into focus. We thought about it while we walked along the beach. It was weighing heavily on our minds while we rode the roller coaster on Santa Monica Pier. Finally the answer came to us over dinner. Our discussion went something like this:
“You know, it’s going to take a long time to run 13 miles.”
“I do know, at least 2 and a half hours.”
“And we have to walk to the start and back to the hotel from the finish. That’s another hour right there”.
“That is three hours we won’t be able to spend at the beach.”
“Right. And really, you’ve been sick, and I’ve been…well stressed…and it will take more like 3 hours to run the half marathon.”
“Don’t forget the one hour of walking to the start and finish.”
“But we already got the green shirts that say we ran a half marathon”.
“No one will ever know. Well except for our race numbers that say we are running the half marathon.”
“We will wear t-shirts over those numbers so no one will know.”
“What about the pictures?”
“We will hold our shirts up to show the numbers when we see the photographers.”
“What about the medals?”
“We won’t take the medals…that would be wrong.”
“Right. It will probably take more like 3 and a half hours to run 13 miles…God that sounds far.”
“Plus the hour walk back and forth to the hotel”.
“That’s like half the day we won’t be able to spend at the beach OR the hotel pool”.
“Ok. Let’s do the 5K.”
“Ok. The 5K”.
“But we have to get up and do the 5K”.
“We will…I’m getting another Chardonnay.”
We did get up and run the 5K. In our defense, it was at least a 2 mile walk to the start. On a shameful note, we did in fact take the medals for the half marathon even though we knew it was wrong. We actually convinced the sweet little teenaged volunteer from big brothers and big sisters to give us the medals even though we ran only the 5K and the 5K does not really earn you a medal. We used our finely honed skills of persuasion, we are lawyers after all, and convinced her that we had in fact paid for those medals and the fact that we were sick and well…stressed…were unforeseen circumstances. Therefore, we should have medals anyway. She conceded. Damn we are good! We do plan to white out the one of the 13 and then it will be accurate. And we did pay for them.
We had a fabulous guilt free day at the beach with chardonnay. Lots of it. I take the lady bug as a sign that we made the responsible and right decision. I mean, if we had run the half marathon, however would we have had the energy to walk the 2 miles back to Venice Beach to buy art from homeless, toothless, criminals. No one should ever miss that. Admittedly I was reluctant. Beach vendors are kind of scary to me and what was that strange fog hanging over the entirety of the boardwalk. What was that smell? Well after about 10 minutes, my reluctance faded away and there was street art that I just could not live without. Everyone needs a cat holding a grenade for their 12 year old son. Who can resist the “don’t f*&% with me I’m a goddess” painting. And Ra Ra Superstar? The man has displayed his art in Tokyo for Christ’s sake. We started to question the wisdom of even the 5k when we realized we had to walk back to the hotel…again…with all of our art. Thank god for vodka. It always comes through just when you think all hope is lost. Just when you think you can’t go on. Just when you want to sit down and cry…you have some vodka and can trudge on through the trenches of hell. 2 pink pussycats (vodka, lemonade, and pomegranate) and we were on our way.
We made it back to the hotel in time for more wine and the golden globes. We had a fabulous time swooning over Colin Firth. I think Krista actually cried when the camera paned to him in the crowd but I’m not sure. At the end of the Golden Globes we were exhausted. I was shocked when I looked up and saw Krista’s smiling face asking expectantly “Kiki…do you want to go to the hot tub? Hot tub? Hot tub?”. Fortunately I declined and we both were asleep within six minutes.
At the end of our trip we found t-shirts that summed up the entire experience. Our shirts say “Running Sucks” in frilly sparkly font. The girls at the Nike store must have thought we were freaks as we giggled through the store with our fabulous shirts.
You might wonder if I have any regrets about this weekend. I am, after all, an avid runner. I have run countless half marathons. I’m a runner damnit. Well, I have no regrets. I had a great time. I have a great friend. I had some chardonnay. I met a new ladybug. And we would not have had the much needed beach time if we had in fact run the half marathon. It would have taken at least 5 hours after all. Plus the hour walk to and from…
My best friend Krista and I took a much needed vacation to Santa Monica for a long weekend. We went under the guise of running a half marathon. In all fairness, we did in fact sign up to run a half marathon. The 13.1 Half Marathon-Los Angeles to be specific. We had our cab driver take us to the “expo”. Our cab driver was an LA cholo who decided mid cab ride that he needed to introduce us to a new comedian. We listened for 5 minutes to vulgar cursing and racial slurs before there was even a joke. Meanwhile our cab driver is yelling out the window to people standing on the corners. “Hey Brittany” was especially memorable. We left our belongings with the cab driver while we ran into the cute running store to get our shirts and race numbers. Too bad we were so worried about our stuff in the cab that we couldn’t shop. That store had some cute stuff. Finally, off to the hotel for some pool time and resting up for our big run.
We really did have every intention of running the half marathon until two glasses of Chardonnay at the hotel pool brought the utter foolishness of our goals into focus. We thought about it while we walked along the beach. It was weighing heavily on our minds while we rode the roller coaster on Santa Monica Pier. Finally the answer came to us over dinner. Our discussion went something like this:
“You know, it’s going to take a long time to run 13 miles.”
“I do know, at least 2 and a half hours.”
“And we have to walk to the start and back to the hotel from the finish. That’s another hour right there”.
“That is three hours we won’t be able to spend at the beach.”
“Right. And really, you’ve been sick, and I’ve been…well stressed…and it will take more like 3 hours to run the half marathon.”
“Don’t forget the one hour of walking to the start and finish.”
“But we already got the green shirts that say we ran a half marathon”.
“No one will ever know. Well except for our race numbers that say we are running the half marathon.”
“We will wear t-shirts over those numbers so no one will know.”
“What about the pictures?”
“We will hold our shirts up to show the numbers when we see the photographers.”
“What about the medals?”
“We won’t take the medals…that would be wrong.”
“Right. It will probably take more like 3 and a half hours to run 13 miles…God that sounds far.”
“Plus the hour walk back and forth to the hotel”.
“That’s like half the day we won’t be able to spend at the beach OR the hotel pool”.
“Ok. Let’s do the 5K.”
“Ok. The 5K”.
“But we have to get up and do the 5K”.
“We will…I’m getting another Chardonnay.”
We did get up and run the 5K. In our defense, it was at least a 2 mile walk to the start. On a shameful note, we did in fact take the medals for the half marathon even though we knew it was wrong. We actually convinced the sweet little teenaged volunteer from big brothers and big sisters to give us the medals even though we ran only the 5K and the 5K does not really earn you a medal. We used our finely honed skills of persuasion, we are lawyers after all, and convinced her that we had in fact paid for those medals and the fact that we were sick and well…stressed…were unforeseen circumstances. Therefore, we should have medals anyway. She conceded. Damn we are good! We do plan to white out the one of the 13 and then it will be accurate. And we did pay for them.
We had a fabulous guilt free day at the beach with chardonnay. Lots of it. I take the lady bug as a sign that we made the responsible and right decision. I mean, if we had run the half marathon, however would we have had the energy to walk the 2 miles back to Venice Beach to buy art from homeless, toothless, criminals. No one should ever miss that. Admittedly I was reluctant. Beach vendors are kind of scary to me and what was that strange fog hanging over the entirety of the boardwalk. What was that smell? Well after about 10 minutes, my reluctance faded away and there was street art that I just could not live without. Everyone needs a cat holding a grenade for their 12 year old son. Who can resist the “don’t f*&% with me I’m a goddess” painting. And Ra Ra Superstar? The man has displayed his art in Tokyo for Christ’s sake. We started to question the wisdom of even the 5k when we realized we had to walk back to the hotel…again…with all of our art. Thank god for vodka. It always comes through just when you think all hope is lost. Just when you think you can’t go on. Just when you want to sit down and cry…you have some vodka and can trudge on through the trenches of hell. 2 pink pussycats (vodka, lemonade, and pomegranate) and we were on our way.
We made it back to the hotel in time for more wine and the golden globes. We had a fabulous time swooning over Colin Firth. I think Krista actually cried when the camera paned to him in the crowd but I’m not sure. At the end of the Golden Globes we were exhausted. I was shocked when I looked up and saw Krista’s smiling face asking expectantly “Kiki…do you want to go to the hot tub? Hot tub? Hot tub?”. Fortunately I declined and we both were asleep within six minutes.
At the end of our trip we found t-shirts that summed up the entire experience. Our shirts say “Running Sucks” in frilly sparkly font. The girls at the Nike store must have thought we were freaks as we giggled through the store with our fabulous shirts.
You might wonder if I have any regrets about this weekend. I am, after all, an avid runner. I have run countless half marathons. I’m a runner damnit. Well, I have no regrets. I had a great time. I have a great friend. I had some chardonnay. I met a new ladybug. And we would not have had the much needed beach time if we had in fact run the half marathon. It would have taken at least 5 hours after all. Plus the hour walk to and from…
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