In 2013, The LA Marathon was run on St. Patrick’s Day, meaning I could go out and party after the race… in theory, anyway.

Four leafs would be better.

But as opposed to dancing around a tavern and waving my LA Marathon finisher’s medal screaming “Kiss me, I’m Irish [which I am] and I just ran a friggin’ marathon [which I did],” my St. Patrick’s Day afternoon and evening consisted of me icing my aching feet while sitting on the sofa cradling a McDonald’s “shamrock shake” (I do love those things) and sucking zzzzzs before 9pm.

Erin Go Bragh, indeed.

Also, my birthday falls on March 14th. So, last year my party was smack dab in the middle of taper time. Needless to say it was not an all-night bash involving strippers, clowns, stripper clowns, exploding chickens and various misdemeanors.

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