The Honeymoon Files: Disappointment is Spelled D-N-F

Now that I’m back from my honeymoon both physically and mentally (less-so mentally than physically, but you get the idea,) I figure it’s about time I start expounding upon how awesome it was to not be running a marathon I signed-up for, or lounging on the beach in 85 degree weather while my hometown dug out of it’s third-worst-ever blizzard, or spraining my labrum (surprisingly not a part of my vagina, who knew?) and other fun stuff one does while on their honeymoon and whilst, well, being me. And so, in the words of Julie Andrews, “Let’s start at the very beginning…”

As you might already know, our honeymoon started out with my attempt to kill two birds with one stone by running the Miami marathon on our way to the Dominican Republic. In theory, this was a spectacular idea.

We arrived in Miami on a Friday night, only to be met with a rental car atrocity, in which we were recklessly driven to some “off-site” rental shack, where we refused to pay a previously undisclosed $400 deposit to rent a car without additional insurance. I mean, we have insurance. Insurance that would have covered my husband, me, and all of our luggage had some recently-botoxed Miami broad run us, and whatever hideously-colored compact vehicle they gave us off the road. So no, I didn’t need your $42 per day “life-ending, comprehensive collision and dent coverage package,” thankyouverymuch, ACO Car Rental. And while I might have been a precocious-looking, freshly-deplaned white girl, I could smell your scam all the way from that complimentary shuttle. P.S. I’m pretty sure your driver has narcolepsy, so there’s that.

Day two in Miami was about as productive as day one. I needed to pick-up my race packet, but we couldn’t rent a car until 3pm. So, we spent the morning fighting old people for cold waffles at the free breakfast and trying desperately to fit in at the Spanish-speaking-only “Presidente Supermercado.”

After picking-up our rental car (which we easily-rented from Alamo without donating a kidney or promising to sacrifice our first-born,) we stopped by a Publix for some lunch. This is the point in the story where Kristen buys a previously-opened package of Sabra hummus and eats it anyway. This is mistake number one.

We then headed over to Miami Beach to pick-up my packet and shop around the expo. The drive-in was gorgeous.

I was getting all excited to run the causeways during the marathon the next morning. Sure I was nervous about my overall lack of proper training, but I was confident that I had a good enough fitness base to gut it out.

After getting my packet, and a seriously awesome deal on a Spibelt, we headed back to grab dinner. The drive out was just as pretty.

We ordered take-out from a local Italian restaurant. This is the point in the story where Kristen gets pasta with marinara sauce that tastes like a dirty tire and eats it anyway. This is mistake number two.

I felt the first ominous rumble in my stomach about 40 minutes after dinner. For me, menacing intestinal noises are a daily occurrence. I generally don’t get too worried, especially if I’m within 20 feet of a bathroom…but something about this was different.

Different indeed. Hours later I was suffering from stabbing stomach pain and projectile expulsions from both ends of the excretory spectrum. I finally fell asleep at 3:15am, exactly one hour before I was supposed to be up to run the marathon. Shortly before I feel drifted-off, the minty essence of Pepto-Bismol on my breath, I called it. I wouldn’t be able to do the marathon. Not only did I foresee my now dehydrated-self becoming violently ill during the race, I saw myself being wholly incapacitated for the first few days of my honeymoon (not to mention, more likely to have to use the barf-bag on the plane, which is like, one of my biggest fears. Ever.)

I’ve signed-up for races before and skipped them, so I’m not totally unfamiliar with seeing a DNF next to my name. The difference is, in the past I’ve skipped races because I’ve totally neglected all training efforts. It’s easy to pass on something in which you’ve invested nothing. But I dedicated a lot of time to preparing for Miami. Sure, I could have done more, but it wasn’t like I had been sitting on the couch eating Cheetos for the past six months.

As disheartening as it was, I knew I made the right decision. There would be other marathons, there would (hopefully) not be other honeymoons. And really? If this was the start of our vacation, things could only get better. At least one would think so, wouldn’t they?