My how the mighty have fallen.

(Sunday)
In case you were wondering, it apparently is possible to run a half marathon with zero training. And when I say zero, I mean that I have run maybe 13 miles (the length of the race) in the past year . No exaggeration. After spending all day yesterday hungover, I ended up accidentally drinking a fully leaded (read: caffeinated) coffee last night. So last night I can tell ya how beautiful the full moon was and what it looked like straight ahead out of my window at any time from 3 am to 6am. Sleepless but wired, I laced up in an obnoxious neon running getup and sweatband to match my friend's and we headed off to the starting line.

I pretty much didn't feel the first 7 miles of the race, despite that, in retrospect, I think this race was uphill both ways! So didn't feel a thing. But then, magically, I did. In the form of a huge blister on my foot (I'd demand a refund for my fancy schmancy running socks from the running store, but I can't move far enough to get there). And then it came to my attention that my ankles were aching. But I was stranded up on the Golden Gate Bridge and I'd said I was gonna finish the damn thing, and I'm nothing if not a woman of my word. So I went where no runner (I would venture to say) has gone before, calling upon a trusty mix of pick me up songs that may or may not have included Guns n Roses meets Mariah. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures...

And finish I did. I got my little medal, the one that makes it worth doing it all. And pathetically, my time was only slightly worse than my time when I ran it last year after 3 months of preparation. Let that be a lesson to you all. I think this is the way to do it- zero training and then feel like a hero for a week (a week during which you don't have to work out again, naturally, you're "recovering").

I made a beeline for the one stand serving fruit juice and next thing I knew, I had 'yes'd' again! THE BACHELOR was holding an open casting call. God help me, I filled out a form. It took 2 seconds, but I'm sure you'll understand why I had to do it when I tell you that you got to sit in a CHAIR while you interviewed! What's dignity when I could sit my ass down?

My application read that I was applying because "I like catfights. And I just ran a half marathon, so apparently I can do anything."

The interview was pretty basic at first. They asked me why I wanted to be on the show. Naturally I pulled a blank because I *didn't* want to be on the show. I wanted to sit in that comfy plastic chair. But you can't say that, these Hollywood types get all offended. So I told them I was there to support my friend. Seemed like a good, reasonable answer. But then I also laughed and said that trying out for "some show like this" was the last thing anyone I knew would expect me to do. That's when they started leaning in. Why, they asked. "Well, I don't compete. Much less for guys. Much less on national television." No, it didn't occur to me that insulting their show wasn't the way to win hearts. I had left judgment back at mile 5. Nor did it occur to me that the big golden plastic medallion I was wearing (and broadly grinning at) around my neck indicated that I was, in fact, slightly competitive. They asked me what type of girl I'd be if I were on the show. Would I be the catfighter? I told them I'd be the fun one. I'd be "the one who would go on the show and make a bunch of girlfriends and not give a shit about the guy."

They asked me about my dating life, and I clued them into the fact that I've never been a big dater but seem to have made up for that in the past couple of years, "putting myself out there," whatever the hell that means. And that I had a recent bad date story to prove it. Then, naturally, I told them The Date Story (as I have everyone else within earshot in the past month). I can't print it here because it's incriminating to my date and I like to think I have journalistic scruples BUT I will say that if they could have stood and applauded, they would have. But they couldn't because I think Helen was eyeing their chairs...

At lunch I was asking my friends- who actually watch tv, and apparently gather to watch this show - what the heck it's about. They explained.

me: So what's the prize?
them: For who?
me: The girl who wins!
them: The guy!
me: No, the PRIZE!
them: The guy!
me: No, I mean, and... the PRIZE!

Apparently there is no prize. I had the shows confused. I think it's some other show where the guy picks you and then you trade in his heart for a million dollars. Hmf. I mean, not that any of this will stop me from taking off 6 weeks to go live in some European villa on someone else's dime if I get picked, but I just wanted you to know it was because of Yes that I got into this mess at all.


Monday follow-up: ps. i did get a callback. they let me know this morning. and no, i'm not doing it :) the triumph of no!