We're Number One!

That is to say, after falling behind in registrated attendance to Denver's Komen Race for the Cure, our city picked up the slack and is the largest KRftC! Huzzah!

You could feel it, too- the estrogen thick in the air, but also the feeling of- togeatherness. It wasn't just women who'd been running for their entire lives. It was grandmothers walking with grandchildren, mothers walking with daughters, and people that had never met each other before in their life. Such as myself and Freckles.

Freckles is somewhat of a Smoker/Joker/Midnight Toker sort. She's... um... a bit out there. Coming down from her own caffine buzz, she told me that she'd easily done 48 hours straight of activity and then crash for twenty more. She slept through high school, partied on weekends (and sometimes during the week), and graduated with a 3.0 thanks to summer school.

I met her during the warm-up, where everyone who's close enough to the granstand that doesn't feel like really, really cramping up on the route ends up looking like a Jane Fonda workout video. I was at the back, having just gotten through putting my bags of freebies in the car, and a bit zippy from the 180 that was given out earlier. (ZZzzzEEE!! That stuff's strong! Everyone talks about red bull with vodka- I'd try it with a screwdriver- but wouldn't want to ruin a memosa.) Punching and jabbing our way to almost physical looseness, Freckles introduced herself, and before the end of warm-ups, I'd agreed to walk with her.

After all, I was planning on doing the fun walk.

Being pointed in the right direction by Tarrith and his girlfriend- both volunteering and looking stellar in their orange shirts, we made our way to where everyone was gathering- but even though everyone started moving- I could see the one-mile detour marker at an angle out of the corner of my eye. I did. And I didn't take it. When Kay called later, she was down by the Arch, and had me convinced I was on the right route, even though she'd passed that exact same spot mere minutes ago.

Little did I know I'd be looking up at the Arch twenty minutes later. But, God, it was beautiful... Musicians scattered about on the route, Freckles was delighted by an Irish bagpipe- myself by the all-woman a-cappella choir singing "I Will Survive". There was water for all the people that had signed up in correlation with Cornbread from one of the country morning shows- but I wouldn't let Freckles lay out on the bed from the Mattress Store- otherwise I would too... and then I wouldn't get up.

And at that point, I'd figured out that we were on the long walk.

But- when the home stretch was in sight, there was Big Daddy- in orange- right there to give me a big hug. And then- resting in Keiner plaza until it was time to say goodbye. Not before I exchanged phone numbers with Freckles, though...

Wonder if she'll remember who I am if she ever randomly checks her address book.

~*~

On a related note, Congratulations to everyone who Raced for the Cure, watched it on TV, or were with us in spirit. If you thought about coming and didn't, come next year. Early. We have yougurt!

And Bona-Fide Grade-A Coupons for T-shirts... because, let's face it, on race day, they always run out. Seeing as I'm the only one in my family NOT a survivor that ran, I'd better be sure to snag one this year.