Comedy of Ayers

If I ever take the time to write down my life story, that will be the title, "A Comedy of Ayers." Why? Well, things just seem to happen in my life. I don't want to laugh at them at the time, but later all I can think is "really? really? could that happen to anyone but me?"
Let's start with last week's running debacle. I decide that in all this triathlon fun I'll try to run with the running club that leaves from the running store at Columbus Circle and runs through the park twice a week. One of those times is on Monday night. Let's take into account that last Sunday was the NY City Marathon. Many people from that running club happened to participate in the marathon. Let me tell you, that if I ever run 26.whatever miles, I will not be running the next day, nor the next week. In fact, if I ever run that far I'm certain that it will be because the world has gone all 2012 on me and I'm staying just ahead of the cracks in the earth's crust. Even then I would probably just give up and be like, "Its my time" unless maybe I was holding a baby...but it would have to be my baby and I would have to be saving it for what I knew was a good life, cause if the world goes funky I am not saving my baby to be hunted by crazies who want to eat it like in The Road.
Anyway, needless to say, these runners who are running the day after the marathon are hardcore.
I show up and sign in and ask, "I'm like a real beginner. I can barely run...am I going to be way behind or horribly out of place, cause you can tell me if I am. I can take it."
"No," says the incredibly fit black dude, "you'll be just fine. This is for all levels."
Here's the long and short of it, even though there is a pacer in the back for the "slow" people, I still fall behind and get lost in the park (and this is not my fault, this is the fault of the park for being confusing and the fault of NY for making me so reliant on street numbers). So lost that I end up about 20 blocks north of where I'm supposed to be. I'm supposed to be on the "lower loop"---like that means anything to me. Fearing another trip through the maze that is Central Park at night, I decide to walk around the park, down the East side from 95th to 60th St and across Central Park South back to Columbus Circle.
I walk into the store and am instantly greeted by 4 panicked pacers. "What happened?" "We were so worried!" "You should have told us you were slow." (F U) "Do you want a water? Powerade? Grape? They are free."
"No thank you," I say, trying to hide the fear of being lost in the park, the shame of being slow and getting lost, the frustration that my first few triathlon training experiences aren't going smoothly, and about a trillion other emotions, "I'll just take my bag if that's okay (they run a bag check there too)."
"We're so sorry," says the blond who wore shorts even though its in the high thirties.
"Bag please."
"See, look at the map, we were on the lower loop."
"Yes, its all very clear, ON A MAP! IN THE LIGHT!"
"You look upset."
"Bag please," I ask again.
"Are you sure you don't want me to show you on the map?"
"No thanks, just the bag, " now my voice is strained and trembling.
"Are you sure you don't want a Powerade? Grape is my favorite!"
And at this point I'm just about to tell peppy-Mc-runs-a-lot that I don't give two craps about her favorite Powerade flavor. I hope that you all choke on your Powerades...leaving people in Central Park! I could have been raped!
Instead I burst into tears.
"I just want my BAG!!!!!!!!!"
Yep, I think the combination of tears and screaming got my point across. She hands me my backpack and I leave, embarrassed beyond belief, and I vow to never see any of those people ever again.
I'm more of an alone runner anyway.