Author's Note: This story is really embarrassing! Don't worry, I still have the stain on my shirt, and it is more persistent than ever. I guess it just shows everyone how much of a weirdo I am.
I can hear blood pumping in my ears and heavy breathing; it’s me. Just rounding the first turn outside Miller Park, and I am already tired. Why am I already tired, I haven’t been running that long? So far I have just ran the first stretch of the Milwaukee Color Run 2012, and I am longing to get to the first K so I can occupy my mind with something other than how drained I already am. White t shirts flash by me, and I know I am slowing down, I was passing people like lightning in the kickoff of the race, but now my dust eaters are gaining on me. A pit of regret fills my churning stomach and I know that the slow and steady wins the race, but when do I ever listen to that? Most of the time I am my own personal coach. Just keep running, my devilish self yells internally. My own words empower me more and I repass a slightly chunky jogger from the first wave. Ignoring the little voice in the back of my head, telling me to be the slow and steady runner, I keep pushing onward. Trying to keep running. Trying to forget about being tired. Trying to get lost in my own mind.
Even though I eventually stopped pushing myself, and silence my inner thoughts. Running at my own steady pace, I try not to mind the people passing me, it doesn’t mean my angel on my right and my devil on my left shut up. Just stay at your own pace, you are doing fine, my angel whispered; come on pick it up, did you see that lady with twins in a double stroller just pass you, my devil on the left barked out. I didn’t have time to stop and silence my inner turmoil, because a orange cloud of powder paint is emerging from within the parking lot; I am almost done with my first of 5 K’s. Gaging in my head how far it is from the mist of orange, and how much running energy I have left, I decide it was smart to rest, before I run through the foggy orange veil.
Maybe 500 feet away, I pick up the pace, and steady myself at a slower run. Tangerine ribbons fly to and fro in front of me. It doesn’t look like there is any chance to see where I am going without plastering my eyes peach. Great. The radical orange ribbons are nearing me so I brace myself to drive face first into the cloud of orangey color. I pull in my head for reasons unknown, drag my shirt up over my nose, and just as I enter the orange uncertainty I squeeze my eyes shut. All I can think of right now is enjoying the orange cloaking my unblemished, white shirt. Little did I realize while I was soaking up the titan, my shirt slid off my nose, leaving my nose and huffing and puffing mouth unrobed. Unable to close my panting mouth, orange snakes find their way past my lips, and nestle all throughout my inner mouth.
I automatically regret my prior choice to keep running and leave my mouth vulnerable through the peach parade. Even though I am through the first station, I can see nothing be orange, I can taste nothing but orange. As a natural reaction to my sabulous mouth, I start hacking like I have Pertussis. The worst part, I can do nothing about it! My devil on my shoulder thinks differently; Just spit it out, dummy, she barks out. My angel thinks differently; she whispers into my ear very softly, You will get water soon, you’ll be fine. I still haven’t cleared my head about whether to spit or swallow, let alone wipe my sunglasses of their tangerine tint. When I finally decide to regain my eyesight to its full potential, my decision is pretty clear.
I see orange shirts pull of from the crowd and spit orange slobber; no one likes the taste of colored corn starch, I wonder why. Following the parting crowds, I gather all the saliva into part of my mouth and find the perfect time to spit onto the grass. Right, now! I spit out all that I can and just keep running, planning to part with my orange friends, but it has different plans. Little did I know that while breathing heavily with my mouth ajar meant that it was that much harder to spit. My little orange friend, instead of parting with me, decided to tag along and find it’s way right to the front of my shirt, right smack dab in the middle!
Why me?! Everyone else has no problem discharging their orange paint from their mouth but mine came right back and made itself at home. My orangy cheeks flush red, I’m sure, and I look around wildly for any bystanders who saw my epic fail. No one makes fun, or rather looks like they noticed so I just keep running, trying to play it cool. I beat myself up for being a total goober. I think from now on I will just swallow and not risk looking like a idiot. For now I just have to swallow my pride, swallow my big orange pride.
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