Run like a girl

Eight hours and counting until we leave for the Nike Women's Marathon. At 7 a.m. tomorrow in the dark, foggy San Francisco streets, Amy and Miss Mobtown and I will start our half marathon trek all over the city. Along with about 15,000 other ladies, they say. A fine way to spend a Sunday.

We went to Union Square this afternoon to pick up our race packets, mini Luna Bars, official shirts, pace bracelets, and everything else a gal might need to run herself ragged. Or, you know, walk herself. Can you imagine running for five hours straight? My legs would revolt and annex themselves from the rest of my body. But they should be able to handle 13 miles or so at a rapid stroll, if that final .1 doesn't put them over the edge.

Why all-female events rule: We get a finisher's necklace by Tiffany (presumably their budget athletic gem line), and there are at least two chocolate stands along the race route. Plus Jamba Juice.

Jamba Juice is worth the pain.