I’m a Running Celebrity

Not really, but it’s fun to think so.

I ran a 5-mile race last weekend with my friend. I thought I was crawling along at a 12-minute/mile pace (seriously, little kids and people pushing 300-pound strollers were passing me), but it turns out that I had a pretty strong time of 42:23 or 8:29 per mile. Pizza and beer at 2 am the night before probably didn't help. My friend, of course, won his age division with a time of 32:32. The punk.

There’s still one race left in this three race series and then on to a half marathon. Check it: http://www.winterdistanceseries.com/.

Some photos from my most recent race. Beware: I’m not a “pretty” or “glamorous” runner. And sorry about the watermarks---I'm poor.

Notice the awesome sunglasses? That’s because I still have a black eye. It’s stellar.

And since we’re on the topic of running pictures, I’m going old-school on you. Here’s a picture from an 8-mile trail race I did back in 2008.

Damain and his crazy German antics crack me up to this day. Then there’s Amber right on our heels shouting that we’re out of shape and slow.

This is why running is so awesome—it's a good workout surrounded by great people. What else can a girl ask for?

Be Careful What You Wish For

I’m going to be honest: I have always wanted a black eye. Seriously. It’s been a life goal of mine… until I got one.

Kyle (my roomie) had a black eye last Tuesday. I came home, saw it, and instantly exclaimed my jealousy. He offered to punch me in the face for one but I declined. (In retrospect, I should've taken him up on the offer.) Then that Friday at my soccer game I took a header to the perfect spot in the face and the fun started.

The progression:

See, usually I'm kinda cute and, well, normal looking.

Then I got hit at indoor soccer. I had plans to go out that night for my friend's birthday so despite the eye I had to go.

Hamming it up for the camera. My eye is so swollen I can barely see.

Love these girls! Happy b-day, Em.

Just your average one-eyed pool shark.

By Monday, the bruising had fully colored into this.

And by Wednesday (today) it is now various colors of the rainbow---and can be spotted from a half mile away.

Not only that, but the blood has drained into my eye so I now look demonic. (And my apologies for looking so awful. My boss is out of town which means I'm lucky if I change out of my sweats in the morning.)

Despite all the stares, the most fun is seeing everyone's reactions. It's a sociological study. Some of my favorite responses:

• I was walking outside the building to go for a run when a man saw me and literally crossed himself. Apparently I'm the devil.
• A coworker walked up and asked, very seriously, "Claire, is everything okay at home?"
• Another coworker suggested this book to me: Men Who Hate Women and the Women Who Love Them. Thanks, but I won't be needing that on my shelf.
• Our receptionist thought that if the bruising didn't go below my eye, it'd be a helluva makeup job.
• Our UPS man, however, instantly figured out that it was soccer and starting diving into war stories of his own.

The best part of this? Hearing everyone else's war stories. The worst part? Constant pity looks. I can't go to the grocery store or the gym without "the look." So I guess I have to run outside, with sunglasses on, and eat pasta for the next week. Fun times.

It's a little vision into our culture:

Guys' injuries=badass

Girls' injuries=domestic violence

Be careful what you wish for.