A chance discussion about running races this afternoon led to a somewhat ridiculous memory of my encounter with the Santa Speedo Run a few years back.
The idea hatched (if memory serves) about 13 years ago by some of the funniest men I know on a whim over drinks (many) one Saturday afternoon right before the holidays. The notion: to run down Newbury Street - packed on a Saturday afternoon during the Christmas season - wearing nothing but a Speedo, Santa gear and carrying a boom box blasting holiday music…and from a ridiculous drunken stunt, an incredible charity was born.
Today the Santa Speedo Run has over 700 runners and has raised over $1.4 million dollars for local children in need. But a few years ago, after writing many checks to support my friends and the charity, I decided to become a runner myself. I am not a runner.
Let’s be clear. This is no Boston Marathon. You run up and down Newbury and Boylston Street. The whole thing is over in 15 minutes. And yet I actually trained for this stupid thing. And my husband, to his credit, tried to stop me. He said, “What the hell are you thinking? You do not run. You are going to get hurt. If you get hurt, you are driving yourself to the hospital!” And of course he was just trying to make a point about my stubbornness to accomplish something I thought I could pull off.
So the day came. My friend who had promised to run with me backed out the night before. Thankfully, another friend, a non-participant, agreed to come with me to the meeting place for support. I entered the Lir, a jam-packed Boylston St. bar with hundreds of already drunk runners, entry form and cash raised in hand.
I shed my coat, and stood among the throngs of 20 somethings in their various interpretation of “inappropriately dressed Santa.” I had chosen a red sports bra, emblazoned with “HO HO HO” across the chest and a pair of red flannel tiny shorts festooned with little white reindeer. I was way overdressed. I didn’t get the memo that this was the Santa Speedo Run version of “It’s Halloween - dress as slutty as you can and it’s ok because you are in costume!!” But no matter. I may have had a bit more fabric, but even at 15 years older than most of the runners, I was feeling pretty good about myself. Not tough when you are both sober and not bloated from drinking every night after work like many of us did back then. And when everyone is standing in a bar half naked, there is whole lot of sizing each other up going on.
It was finally race time. Police had shut down the street and crowds had gathered along the sidewalks. Runners funneled out onto the street, ready to run. After some brief warm ups, the music blasted, and the run started…and I took off, ready to show I could run…
And I made it about a block. If you know Boylston St, I made it to Walgreens. Seriously. It was a freezing cold day, and it had recently snowed. The streets were sloppy, and I hit an ice patch. I put my hands out in front of me to block my fall…and bam! Immediately hit the ground, rolled to my left and broke my shoulder…along with achieving some pretty serious road rash down my back. To my horror, a cop was standing right in front of me, helped me up and asked if I wanted an ambulance. With blood trailing and a now Igor-like stance with my wounded wing, the stubborn idiot my husband called out surfaced her independent head. I believe I muttered something lame like “All set.”
With several hundred runners still pouring by me, I did a walk of shame against the tide back to the bar to fetch my coat and keys - and some Tylenol. My girlfriend looked in horror as I put my coat over my good arm, and I told her where I was headed. And then I made the dreaded phone call…
Actually having to admit to E that I had broken my shoulder and was headed to the hospital was more painful than the injury and the three months of physical therapy that I had to do.
And what did I take away from that story? A few things:
1) Don’t ever challenge me not to do something. I’ll likely do it anyway just to show you I can. Even if I can’t. But at least I tried.
2) I learn from my mistakes (Continuous Learning - Day 93!). I’m not a runner, and it’s stupid to run on icy ground. I will do a lot of adventurous stuff, but I’ll stick to writing these guys checks and cheering them on from the sidelines.
3) Sometimes injuries result in useful side perks. My broken shoulder resulted in a weird bump of bone on the top of it that will never go away…which results in my purse never slipping off. Score!!
4) No one in the world should ever wear a Speedo. But on this one magical afternoon, the second Saturday of each December, hundreds of people embarrass themselves in the name of good fun and helping kids. You gotta love the holiday spirit of that.
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