After the off-and-on rain of Saturday, Sunday morning arrived dark, windy, and rainy. And cold.
I still got up, though, and got dressed in my finest (and only) kilt. Kevin and I were running in the Shamrock Run 5K. Kevin had run it with me last year, and wanted to do it again. Though he had called me Friday evening, worried about the weather forecast of rain for Sunday morning.
He got what he had worried about, all right. It was coming down in buckets while I waited for him to pick me up.
Joking about the bad weather helped cheer us up, and we drove downtown and found a parking spot. We kept mentioning that we wished it was the part of the day for eating the giant post-race celebratory breakfast, like we were reading each other’s minds.
Walking towards Waterfront Park and Front Ave., we passed a group of older men and women, dressed in green, with green beads and hats and some of the men in kilts, like me. They were taking shelter under an overhang. One of the ladies saw us, and me in my kilt, and called us over. “You look so cute in your kilt, I want to give you one of these,” she said, and held out her hand. Draped over her arm were two silver chains, each suspending a little green plastic shot glass. “And you get one, too,” she said, gesturing at Kevin, “because you’re his friend!”
“Oh, right on!” I said, “thank you!” Kevin and I put the chains around our necks.
I held mine up. “Y’know… it’d be nice to have a little somethin’-somethin’ in here to warm us up for the race…” I was joking, but the gentleman standing next to me smiled and said, “You’re right! What’ll you have?”
I said, “Some scotch would be nice” and he waved over a friend, who pulled out a clear flask with brown liquid from a backpack.
“It’s only a single-malt…” the man said as he put a little shot in our glasses. One for me, Kevin, the man in the kilt, and the man with the flask got some, too. We raised our glasses in a toast, and downed the unmarked liquor.
It was smooth. And damned if it didn’t actually warm me up! Suddenly, even though the rain and wind had not stopped, I felt a little warm glow radiate from my stomach outward. One of the group took me and the other kilt-wearing gentleman’s picture (I should have given my email address so he could send me a copy but did not), and Kevin and I left to go get in place for the race, which was starting in 10 minutes.
A shot of scotch, a run, and a beer chaser. What could be better?