I haven't run so hard since perhaps elementary school! And my body didn't like it. There's this muscle on the top of my shins that kept me limping for three days afterward. It was very fun, nonetheless. I think my favorite part was sprinting down the sidewalk on 18th Street by all the fancy outdoor restaurants, with bewildered diners gaping at us. I felt so conspicuously out-of-place, yet much too scared of getting tagged to really care. Strangers kept stopping me and asking, "What is going on?"
Our entire gang was tagged out just three blocks from the second check point. We didn't stand a chance. There was a chaser in every direction we turned, and soon we were all split up, and finally when Matt and I didn't realize that the entire mob of people at the other side of the intersection happened to be chasers until they all broke into a stampede in our direction, I knew we were goners. I was finally run down on a bridge over I-395 by a tall red-haired man.
We knew by the twitter feeds that most people had been tagged out by about 10:30 pm, at which point we forsook the whole thing and went out for dinner. The next day we learned that out of the 1,000 runners who began the race, only 79 actually 'survived D.C.' Next year they should re-name it the D.C. massacre.
Upon getting tagged, I had to exchange my blue runner arm band for an orange chaser arm band. (I also had to call everyone else so that we could re-group, since we had been scattered in every which way.)
Here we are with our chaser arm bands on. Every last one of us got tagged out.
That is awesome! How fun! We did a similar thing on a much smaller level in Ririe for a Singles activity. I bet that was super intense.
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