This particular run had a theme just as all of the races I choose to participate in do. Instead of galavanting through the streets of Paris by night, or hoofing it for 10k in a Santa suit, however, this one involved getting doused with colorful powders at each of the 1k marks. First was green followed by yellow followed by blue then finally pink... sweet bright blindingly magenta pink. My fave.
This was probably also the most casual of all the runs I have yet participated in. Partly because of the color stops and partly because there was a massive amount of participants, it was near impossible to actually run the whole way. It also didn't help that French Friend and I stopped midway for a rejuvenating pint at an outdoor bar by the Seine.
It was actually after this stopoff that I realized I really didn't have nearly enough color coating my body, so I made it my mission to essentially bathe in powder at the final spot. The way it works is that people working for the run throw powder on the runners via squirt bottles or buckets of reserve. At least half of this powder never makes it onto a living soul and the ground is the happy recipient of a rainbow carpet. This layer was of course what provided us with excessive supplies to rub into my scalp, clothing and face. I was henceforth what looked vaguely akin to a bright pink oompaloompa.
By the time we actually reached the finish line, the sun was ablaze in the sky and there were crowds of runners and spectators roaming around the foot of the Trocadéro just beyond the Tour Eiffel. One of the things they give you upon completing the course is yet another packet of color to shower over yourself or others in unison at a designated time. This was what literally added the pink icing onto my already nauseatingly neon pink cake.
When it was finally time to collect Photography Friend from her café, I had to hail her from outside a window so as not to risk bumping into anyone or anything on the inside of the restaurant. We did, however, head into a grocery store to forage some supplies for a celebratory picnic overlooking the finish line. During this relaxing interlude, I was approached by two different tourists who asked to take a picture WITH me, apparently profoundly impressed with my exterior and in need of a lasting memory of my brilliance.
It was a perfect day to be outside enoying the sun for any reason, nevermind such a colorful celebration. The only downside? When I finally arrived home and got to take a shower, two rounds of shampoo was enough to realize my blonde locks had no interesting in relinquishing its pink radiance just yet. Apparently my rebel phase of dying my hair like a rock star would be happening in my mid-30's rather than as a teenager. Lucky for me, pink is my personal neutral, so there was no fashion clashing for the week or so that my talisman of kaleidoscopic memories remained.
