Puppets, Boobies, Hiking and Biking

Happy Patriots' Day, lovers! Let's all celebrate by drinking early and watching the marathoners run by!

Oh wait, I live in New York City, not Boston. Guess I'll have to celebrate by going to work and keeping my running sneakers on instead of changing into my dress shoes. Good thing Coach B is sending email updates roughly every six minutes so I can keep track of my friends'/teammates' pacing every step of the way! Seriously, he sent eight emails during today's race - though it's supercool that our women's 40+ team took fourth place. Hi, I'm JackieOh, and I like to live vicariously.

On Friday night after a few plans fell through I got a text message from Coach G: Want to go to a puppet show on the LES?

Um, sure.

So at 9:30 I arrived at a tiny theatre on Clinton Street, the door to which was manned by a girl wearing a toga and wrapped in silk flowers and vines. Good start. I took my seat next to Coach G and adjusted to the volume level of the audience. Everyone around me was yelling and banging the tambourines and maracas that were doled out on each seat. A few minutes later we were joined by the N Sisters, friends from running class, who looked equally perplexed by the rowdy scene.

Then the play/performance/thingy started. I don’t know how to explain it, or what it was about at all. There was a man dressed as a giant mouth, and he was attacked by a killer badger (which we tried to ward off with our percussion instruments); there were girls dancing around in what looked like shrimp costumes; and there were marionettes. Thankfully, we armed ourselves with big paper cups-full of wine – avant-garde theatrical performances should mandate a certain level of alcohol consumption anyway.

After the show Coach G led us to a nearby burlesque bar, theorizing that the only way to top what we’d just seen would be mostly-naked ladies swinging their nipple tassels around. He was right, I guess, and the burlesque show was a delicious mix of seediness and entertainment. TN and I have our sights set on new careers…maybe there’s a niche market for flat-chested runner chicks in the burlesque world! Anyway, it was a great night that could only happen in New York.

On Saturday I was awake before sunrise to marshal the bike race in Central Park. The race was pretty weak because all the good riders were racing upstate instead, but thankfully that made it much shorter than usual. I like watching bike racing the same way I like watching running racing: because I enjoy standing near the finish line and cheering on my friends. Being assigned to stand at a designated light post and blowing a whistle every time the field passes is obviously less fun. But you have to marshal if you want to race, so there I was.

Afterwards, I joined girl friends J and SJ for hiking outside of the city. We didn’t get lost, we brought enough water, the weather was perfect…it was so much fun. I love hiking! I’m hooked now. Back in Manhattan, we celebrated our expert hiking skills with burgers and sangria on an outdoor restaurant patio. We were dirty, tired, a little sunburned (despite our careful sunscreen application), but oh, so happy. There is something wonderful about having female friends who can talk about boys and weddings and all that girlie stuff – while trekking through the woods or riding around the park at dawn! I’ve really hit the jackpot.

On Sunday morning QZ dragged my tired butt across the bridge and up and down River Road. It was a chilly, windy ride and he’s much, MUCH better than me, but I did my best to cling to his back wheel for dear life. He gave me such hell when I showed up at his apartment wearing a bandana under my helmet and a running shirt under my jersey – apparently I didn’t look enough like a “real” cyclist and I needed his hat and arm warmers. Real cyclists, I’m learning, feel the insane urge to match everything from their helmet down to the paint job on their superfancy bikes. The only reason any of my gear matches is because I tend to buy things in my favorite colors red and black. When I get any good on the bike maybe I can justify the matchy-matchy gear, but until then I’d just look like another New York diva cyclist with more money than ability. Sorry, QZ, I’m sticking with my bandana…but I’m keeping your arm warmers.