Post-Race Rituals

As part of my ritual, I have a series of things that I do after a marathon.

Massage: If I were rich, I’d have a massage therapist as part of my entourage. Some people don’t like the idea of some stranger touching them. “Not I” said this duck. Bring it. I have two therapists that I rely on: Lori and Mary. Both are petite women who are slightly taller than me but about 20 lbs lighter, but who both can knead the golf balls out of my calves as if they were sore losers of a strongman competition. A massage seems to do wonders on any other day so you better believe I’ve got one scheduled .

Chiro-crackment: That would be a chiropractor appointment for those of you who had difficulty understanding my ESL-ness. Doug, my chiro-cracker friend makes sure that my hips and back aren’t out of whack and causing me to walk like Quasimodo. He also stretches my IT band (tissue on the outside of your leg that runs from your knee to your hip). It hurts like a mo-fo while he’s doing it so I end up calling him plenty of dirty names, but I end up feeling much looser when he’s done. I also have to apologize for the name-calling so that (1) I can continue to come back and (2) so that this 6’4” bodybuilder doesn’t squash me like a bug.

Pedicure: After assessing the damage to my poor tootsies and after my muscles are loose enough that I can reach my toes, I give myself a pedicure. I know I could pay someone to do this, but I guess I’m cheap when it comes to certain things – especially things that I’m perfectly capable of doing myself. Despite having more bottles of nail polish than Steve and I have finger and toenails combined, I will however treat myself to a new bottle of polish. Or two. This race's colors are the classic I'm Not Really a Waitress and Cosmo-Not Tonight Honey.


Pig out sans-guilt: It’s no secret that I have a big appetite. You’d think that after a marathon I’d be hungrier than normal, but surprisingly I’m not. (I do really hope that the folks running the National Marathon have the jumbo soft pretzels available again after the race. Those rocked.) Since Steve is also running National, our post-race feast has yet to be decided. We may go for the tried-and-true Chipotle, or perhaps we’ll venture into burger territory. Whatever we decide on I can tell you that it’s probably one of the few times I’m not thinking about whether or not what I’m eating is clogging my arteries.