Well, it's all over. I'll get to the race in just a minute. First, there was the night before.
Joe and I had reservations at Carmine's, but decided at the last minute to go to Tuscany instead (aka: didn't want to drive downtown). It was a little disappointing. Don't get me wrong. As far as Italian restaurants go, Tuscany is top shelf. My favorite fried calamari...the roasted garlic shmushed into the dipping oil...their Cipriani sauce (which is never as good in the jar, natch)...mmmm....however, my taste buds were horny for Carmine's and I did not deliver. So even though I had a great, indulgent meal, I didn't feel satisfied. I hate that.
On the bright side, since we were closer to home, we got back earlier, and I was able to get to bed at a reasonable hour. I needed to be up at 4:30 am, and I was super-paranoid I'd sleep through the alarm if I was overtired.
Of course, since I was so nervous, I must have woken up in the night 5 times to check the clock. I finally woke up on my own at 4 and didn't bother going back to bed at that point. Not before I had one crazy-ass dream about the half, though.
In my dream, I was running the race and it was being held indoors. The ground was covered with that green plastic grass carpet that people use in their screened-in porches. The mile markers and finish line were written in white on the ground. The rule was you had 3 hours to complete the race, and if you didn't, you didn't get a finishing time and therefore basically ran it for nothing. Of course, in the dream I was down to the final seconds of the 3 hours, and as I looked at the ground, there were 2 different finish lines. There were people all around counting down like fucking New Years Eve, and as they screamed "3,2,1" I crossed the first finish and stopped. Then the chef from Dinner Impossible came up to me and said I crossed the wrong finish line and my race was now invalid. I started screaming at him that he ruined my race and woke up.
I definitely watch too much Food Network.