Islands in the Bay, that is what we are

Two members of the department across the hall signed up for the Alcatraz Challenge, which was held yesterday morning. In this Challenge, contestants swing from Alcatraz to the East Beach at Crissy field, and then run seven miles to the base of the Golden Gate Bridge and back. About half or more of the nutcases who sign up for this only do the swim. And while it is indeed an impressive swim, from what I witnessed most contestants do not do this for the challenge or the competition, but just for the "I've swum from the rock" bragging rights. Which is all fine and dandy I suppose. There was plenty of eye candy, but most of the guys were very much "look at me--I'm hot-- don't you want me baby" sort of guys, not what I consider true competitive athletes. This hypothesis may or may not be substantiated by the observation that none of the cocky-swagger guys did the swim and run. The swimmers and runners--those guys looked like real athletes. And as a spectator, I can attest to their dedication and effort.

The shirtless swaggering guys had that Marina asshole air about them, but I will say their torsos tended to merit the arrogance.

But I digress.

Way too early Sunday morning (after hitting the sack at 4:30 after the night at Club Jackson), I joined Shilpa on the 43-Masonic to MUNI down to the Marina, where we waited on Amy H. and Zo to meet us and walk to the shore. It was a brisk morning in SF. And while it was beautifully sunny overhead, the Golden Gate was still mired in freezing fog. I can’t imagine how effing cold the Bay must have been for the swimmers.


We looked for the families of our participating friends Amy Day and Terrance, but to no avail. After the transition from swim to run, we settled ourselves on the footbridge to cheer on the runners.


Did I mention- essential for early morning cheering on the beach: mimosas and bloody marys. Breakfast of those cheering on the champions.

As a smaller (i.e. not a marathon) race, there were no lines of cheering supporters. We were it, and generally much appreciated. Occasionally, during slow stretches, Shilpa and I would break out into a round of “Brr! It’s cold in here!...”

The race was not the tightest we’ve seen, and the course was not that well marked, so often it was difficult to tell the racers from people just out for a morning jog. We started waiting until we saw the whites of their ID tags before cheering. For those who did not know there was a biathlon in progress, they were like, “WTF with the drinking losers yelling at passer-bys at 9:00 on Sunday morning?”

Granted, the more slap happy we got, the more inventive our cheers. We went from simple “Woo woo” and “Way to go”s to more “WOO! Good run! Almost there!... [sotto voce] call me.” And occasionally, also sotto voce, “nice ass!”

Amy H., the physician among us, would diagnose the runners as they went by with any number of physical, muscular, or skeletal ailments which affected their running form. At one point she said, “See how he twists his [Latin whatever] slightly as he [medical term]. He has an inflamed wiggerbagigger and [insert roughly 18 words I don’t understand here].”

Me: “Really?”

Amy H. “Well that, or he’s just a bad runner.”

The Day’s were glad to see us, if not merely for the fact we were the walking breakfast beverage cart. And of course we were happy to find them, if not that they brought the brunch to go with the beverages.

WAY TO GO AMY AND TERRANCE!!


Well done! And thanks for introducing disgusting terms/ideas like “bay beard” into my lexicon (green algae clinging en mass to the light fur on your face). Ew. Y’all are crazy. Cool, but crazy. Now go take a hot bath and a thousand antibiotics.


By the way, today I made a comment to Terrance that it was amazing how all the creepy stuff in the Bay water seems to act just like hair mousse. He told me one of his kids asked, "Daddy, did someone do you hair after the race?"