Call me motivated to bring you another guest!

OH EM GEE!  Thank you all for the love this week. And thank you to the hot and talented writers gracing this blog. You are my idols for one reason or another.

Today’s guest I’ve adored since seeing her borderline inappropriate comments on my favorite blogs. I knew I had to know her. To find out she was a runner too? Oh yeah, SERIOUS LUST! (Sorry MommaKiss, my eye does wander from time to time!) I think you’ll love her too.  Please welcome the delightful, delicious and darling Julie Gardner:

Today call me motivated which is something of a rarity. However, the annual post-Thanksgiving Temecula Turkey Trot is a month away and training for a 10K that occurs in the middle of my yearly tryptophan-induced food coma takes preparation, or at least the ability to run on a full stomach without vomiting.

The course starts and ends at Cougar Vineyard & Winery (I know. Cougar. Grrr.) and nothing gets me more motivated than free wine tastings “for participants over the age of 21.” They also serve bagels at the finish line and nothing tastes better after too much turkey than too many onion bagels, am I right?

This year, however, I am not running for the free cabernet or the free baked goods or the fact that I promised my sister-in-law, Linda. Oh no. This year, it’s about redemption. I’ve got a score to settle with someone I like to call Bra Top Girl, so I hope she’s ready for me. Because I will be. Ready for her, I mean.

Three years ago when Linda and I showed up for our first Temecula Turkey Trot, my number one priority was “having fun together” followed closely by “not being cold.” November mornings can be chilly - even in California – so I had donned capri pants and a long-sleeved shirt to stay warm. In contrast, the young young young runner beside us at the starting line was dressed for “Spring Break on the Equator.” She wore only a pair of work-out panties (really, you couldn’t call them shorts) and a racer-backed jogging bra that left her entire torso exposed to the elements and my jealousy.

As the race began, so did our suffering. Apparently, Linda and I were ill-prepared to tackle six miles on the heels of pumpkin pie. She distracted herself by listening to 2 Live Crew, unaware that iPod earphones can encourage you to sing not only badly but also loudly. I debated whether or not to inform her that folks in New Jersey could hear her singing, “Hey, we want some pu-SAY!” but that’s when the miracle occurred and we passed Bra Top Girl trotting beside the mile three marker in her lingerie.

I was, of course, too classy to celebrate outwardly and I don’t think I tripped her on purpose. Still. I was inwardly thrilled to be ahead of someone half my age wearing one eighth the amount of the clothing I had on. Unfortunately, I had to temper the thrill of victory with an ice-cold fact: the Turkey Trot course ends at the winery tasting room (bonus) but it is perched atop a hill that looks, after six miles, like an asphalt wall about to hit you in the face.

As we approached the Big Slap, I loosened Linda’s ear bud and said, “Shorten your stride, keep your head up, and don’t stop!” Then I wheezed, “Remember the cabernet!” for insurance. It was as we slogged our way up the last .2 miles, red-faced and ready for bagels, that the worst happened: Bra Top Girl sprinted past us (sprinted!) to the finish line. Aesop can suck it. Young and naked wins the race.

Later, while viewing the online photos of the race, we counted no fewer than six pictures of BTG racing up the hill by herself in all her perky-breasted glory. Then we spotted one lone shot (one!) of Linda and me bringing up her rear. I told myself the photographer probably wanted to encourage the young lady who couldn’t afford to wear an entire outfit to the race. But then Bill looked at the picture of Linda and me and asked, “If both your feet are on the ground at the same time does that count as running?”