Corriendo, Los Angeles

La lluvia

Sometime in December or January when most of the participants of the PostBourgie Running Challenge were complaining about snowstorms, sub-zero temperatures and icy sidewalks, I was bragging about running in a t-shirt and shorts.

I really shouldn’t have bragged.

I feel like Sunday’s storm was Mother Nature’s cruel joke on Angelenos, especially the runners, who enjoyed (and maybe bragged) about our typical mild winter.

It rained this afternoon. As I left work, I kicked myself for not bringing my umbrella. I ran to catch the bus and had flashbacks to Sunday. ‘This is nothing compared to Sunday,’ I told myself.

It was just a little rain.


LA Marathon race recap

I really tried to keep this short, but it was a long day, a long race and verbosity got the best of me. It’s organized, so if you just want to read about the race, skip the pre- and post-marathon sections. As a researcher, I know numbers don’t tell the whole story, but they’re still fun to look at. So if you want data, go here. Oh yeah, and keep in mind that when I say rain, I mean freak torrential downpour, not light sprinkles or scattered showers.

¡Sigánme los buenos! (I really wish I had the foresight to put this on my race day shirt.)
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Boda, Cuentos

Four and a quarter

Now We Can Stop Calling Each Other "Boyfriend" and "Girlfriend"

Last night, Sean asked me to marry him. And I said yes. I know we’re Facebook engaged, but now it’s official.

Sean asked me at my apartment after we had gone out to dinner at my favorite Mexican/Salvadorean place in Palms, Gloria’s. While waiting for our food, I brought up something we talked about last fall. Then he told me that his friend’s friend was planning to propose to his girlfriend as she ran the NY Marathon, her first. I thought it was a dumb idea. So did Sean. We’d talked about proposals before and I’d expressed distaste for public proposals, jumbo screen proposals at Dodger Stadium, and proposals in the middle of a big family event. That may be great for some women, but not for me.

I brought up the marathon proposal again last night. “You know, now that I’ve actually run a marathon, I think a proposal then is an even worse idea. I know how I am, and I know I’d cry. And then I’d get boogers and that would affect my breathing. I’d be mad.”

Sean nodded and re-agreed. We laughed and ate more chips.

When we got home, I took some pictures of some of my marathon stuff and had Sean crouch down to take a picture of my shoes on the floor. It still hurts to squat and sit down. While I had my back turned to him, I got a text message. It was a Twitter update (I get Sean’s tweets via text message).

Getting my attention

I turned around.

He was kneeling.

“The marathon is over… So I’m asking.”

I knew he was serious, but I still asked, “Are you kidding?”

He pulled a small black box out of the pocket of his hoodie. He opened it to show a ring.

He was silent. I started to cry.

“You have to ask me.” I wanted to hear the words.

He choked up a little as he softly uttered, “Will you marry me?”


He got up, we hugged tightly like we used to at baggage claim after weeks without seeing each other. We call it airport hugs. I sniffed and said something about getting boogers on his hoodie. He didn’t seem to mind.

“You talked to my dad right?”


We hugged more and then I whispered, “I love you so fucking much.” He kissed me.

Then he let go and got back to the ring, still nestled in its box.

“Oh, let’s try this ring on. Let’s see if four and a quarter fits. It looks small.”

It wouldn’t go past my knuckle. I freaked out momentarily and then realized it was my right hand.

“Wait, this is the wrong finger.”

We tried the left ring finger, it got tight around the knuckle, but it fit.


Of course, I had to make some calls. My mom had actually called during dinner to check up on how I was feeling. I found out soon that my parents knew Sean planned to propose, but didn’t know when. Last week, he enlisted Lori’s help to get my dad alone on Saturday at the party/fundraiser. They were surprised it was so soon. Sean was too. He didn’t know he’d be asking last night, but he had to. The ring was, “burning a hole in his pocket” and he just had to do it.


Blood, wet and tears

Cindy Stops For A Drink After Mile 17

I ran the Los Angeles Marathon today.

My legs are sore. Sitting down hurts. My chest is chafed up and appears like I have a weird sun burn. My waistline is worse thanks to my running pants and the iFitness fuel belt I wore low on my waist. I screamed the moment hot water hit my wounds in the shower. My ankles are bandaged up hiding the few cuts on each. And I have a crazy appetite but little desire to eat. Food upsets my tummy. I’m sleepy, but when I tried to sleep all the caffeine in my system kept me up.

But I’m happy. Elated, really.

I ran a marathon. I ran it soaked from head to toe. I ran in an intense storm, the kind we rarely get in LA (think 2 inches in some parts and floods in others). I ran smart paces (sorta). I ran happy, smiling, interacting with spectators, and cheering on my fellow runners. And I met my goals. Namely, finishing and clocking in at 4:30 or less. I’m happy with my 4:23:56 finish, a 10:04 pace.

I’ll be back with more on hanging out at Dodger Stadium at dawn, running in a crazy storm, bloody ankles, the cool SRLA student carrying a Mexican flag, those “smart” paces, my favorite signs, splits (for my fellow running nerds), my new found love for GU Roctane, admiration for spectators and volunteers braving the rain, the great support and signs from my family and Sean, the final few miles I ran choking back tears, finishing strong (!), post-race family reunion and subsequent misery (I was cold and wet, y’all, I think I was on the verge of hypothermia), and recovery.