When Irish Eyes Are Smilin'

Coming from a big city known for its Irish folk, I didn’t expect to have an awesome St. Paddy’s Day. Not that I am one of those hot mess girls that gets drunk on green beer and has to be escorted out the back door…anymore. I actually bowed out of that scene a few years ago because you know, I turned 25 and I added it to my Murtaugh list (see Ted Mosby).

Back home we have this awesome 8k race called the Shamrock Shuffle and it kicks off the running season. Every year that is the race that gets me pumped up for spring and summer running. It is a pretty big deal and is usually sold out within a week. I never train for it like I am supposed to meaning that by the end of the race I have embarrassed myself into having a better running season. 

Sadly, I never learn my lesson for the next year.

We also have a pretty awesome parade on the south side of town that is supposed to be a family event…until the hot mess girls and the boys who love them managed to get the city to shut it down.

This year, the school Sassy’s kids attend was having a day’s worth of festivities in honor of the holiday. There was a 5k race called the Irish Dash in the morning, a parade in the afternoon and a party later that night.

Because I am supposed to be a new Lainie, I not only decided that I was going to sign up for the 5k, but I was also going to train for it this time.

Now, I have to tell you that I am not a fan of running in Terre Haute. When I first got here, I went running. I was told there were trails somewhere by my house, but I wasn’t interested in finding them because a closed off trail doesn’t seem all that safe and coming from the city I was just fine running on the sidewalks. So I set out one September day and headed north and to run 2 or 3 miles. I was minding my own business and people in passing cars were giving me looks and at one point a white pickup truck got a bit too close and honked scaring the shit out of me! While collecting myself, I noticed the confederate flag bumper sticker. That was the moment I recalled Sassy telling me something about avoiding the north side of town.

I turned around, went home and the rest of that week, random people from work were telling me how either they, or someone they knew thought they saw me running on Fruitridge and after confirming that it was me, all of them said “Don’t you know we have trails? That’s what they’re for!”

 I haven’t run in Terre Haute since then.

So no, new Lainie did not train for the 5k.

Because I have a steady workout routine (TurboFire!) and I drink my Vi shakes, I was in pretty good shape to do this. Being me, I got there like 2 seconds before registration closed and forgot to get my timing chip so I have no idea what my time was but whatever, I had fun and now I have awakened the runner inside me. I have missed her these last few months and Confederacy be damned, I am running on the sidewalk!

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The parade was a good time, Sassy was in it with her kids and I sat with Izzy, her husband and her adorable boys both under the age of five. This was a wholesome family event our parade back home hoped to be, but I have to admit it was a little odd to see the cops actually smiling.

After the parade, we collected all the candy that was pelted at us (seriously, no one gave those kids a lesson about how to thrown candy!) and Izzy’s older son realized that we had a lot and did his best to ward the candy-givers off. Picture this: A little boy no older than four with red cheeks, balled fist and positioned in a sumo squat screaming “We don’t want anymore candy! No thank you! No more candy!”

Don’t worry folks, I checked for a belly button and he is a human child.

Walking back, Izzy and I saw Waiter Jeff with his parents (he went to the school back in the day). Of course I was still a hot mess from the 5k.

 

Literally.

I was sweaty, had on no makeup, I had just run 3.1 miles and it showed. I did my best to channel my inner beauty and had a conversation with him, but I am sure all he saw was hot mess.

Awesome.

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I was a little nervous about the party that night because every time I go to those things with Sassy, I end up following her around and feeling like a lost puppy. I know some of the other parents from a previous party and I always manage to talk to them, but never really on my own. That was when I (finally) emailed Waiter Jeff to see if he was going to the party and gave him my number so he could text me if he was.

He never responded.

I may have to find another classy establishment to frequent in Terre Haute.

Shit. That’s the only one.

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Sassy had to work the door so I sat with Geoff (who is now less nervous around me) and he introduced me to people, one who was a single guy that talked my ear off and went on tangents that I can’t explain and when it was all said and done I only had one bite of my dinner and Geoff decided to help me by saying “Hey! If you want to ask her out, you should do it already!”

I swear in that moment if I was not chocolate brown, I would have been beet red.

The conversation ended and in an attempt to avoid running into Sir Talks A Lot the rest of the night, I stayed close to Sassy’s friend Ray and his wife Debbie. Because Ray is such a generous party animal, he supplemented everyone’s unlimited beer with Jameson.

And then Senor Cuervo joined the party.

It was official: Sassy was going to have to drive my ass home.

Before we left, I managed to be belligerent (I was pissed I didn’t win the Kindle Fire), clumsy (I don’t think anyone noticed), and ambitious (I may have offered to join the band and gave an impromptu audition).

On the 1.75 mile walk to my car the next morning, I thought about the previous day. I had a pretty awesome St. Patrick’s Day!

I realized that even though our Shamrock Shuffle is better attended, I got to the 5k mark of the Irish Dash and was done and when I usually reach that point in the Shuffle, I think “I would be done now if this was a normal race!”

I actually got see an SPD parade full on and I didn’t have to do battle with some drunk twenty year-old that kept stepping on my toes or her over-gelled boyfriend that need to defend her (absence of) honor.

And even though, I may not be able to show my face around Waiter Jeff again, I got to enjoy my evening with out following my friend to the bathroom to hold her hair back, dancing with some super drunk guy sweating green (not kidding, that happened to me in 2002) or declining beers I didn’t see poured.

Terre Haute on St. Patrick’s Day. Not so bad.

These Irish Eyes are smiling.