New Pre-Race Ritual?

Ed's friend Matt is moving to California, so to bid him farewell, our friend Maggie arranged a wine tasting trip to the Hamptons. She's done this several times for this group. Here's how it works: for $100, a party bus (limo-style seating so everyone is seated around the edges of the bus facing the middle, speakers, stripper poles, fridge/bar area, and seizure-inducing flashing colored lights) drives the group to a few wineries in the Hamptons for pre-arranged tastings. Fees for this are included in the $100 fare. Ed and I met the bus at 10:00 on Saturday morning equipped with bloody Mary-making materials and joined the other 40ish people, who had brought their own contributions of beer and liquors. I had a bit of a headache and so did not drink much during the two-hour drive to the first winery, though many of our group were pretty warmed up by the time we arrived. We went to two wineries before heading home, arriving back in the city somewhere around 6:00.

Our group at winery #1

To be sure, a good time was had by all. I was struck, though, by how different wine tasting is on the east coast, at least judging by this experience. In California, wine tasting has always been a quietly enjoyable affair. The average age in the room is generally somewhere around 40, and people sip and make notes about what they're drinking. They discuss the character of the different wines with the pourer behind the bar. If there is music, I have never noticed it. On the east coast, wine tasting is sort of like going clubbing. The first winery we went to was a bit like California, though there were several bachelorettes and their entourages wandering around in garish sashes and tiaras. Parties mixed, mingled, and flirted as though we were at a bar, and there was a lot of unashamed staggering. The second winery had booming music and milling crowds. Instead of standing around a bar, chatting (in a slurred manner, to be sure) with your group and the proprietor, people lined up like they would at a wedding to trade in the puzzle pieces we were given upon entry - four per person - for different plastic cups about 1/3 of the way filled with wine. There was no paper on which to write our impressions, and it was hard even to get hold of a menu to see what the names of the wines were, let alone what flavors we could expect. Ed told me that he liked one bottle in particular and that's the one I ended up getting with all four of my pieces, for simplicity's sake. The place was packed and nearly everyone ended up being spilled on from some angle. I expect conditions would have been more pleasant if the weather was better and we could have spilled outside, but it was freezing, rainy, and muddy. 

The ride home was messy. The bus was littered with refuse of all kinds - though I'm happy to say that no one revisited things they had previously swallowed - and wine-splotched people either engaged in yelled conversations or slept pressed against windows and each other. I did a bit of both. Upon arrival back in good old NYC, Ed and I took a cab back to his apartment, where we ordered dinner and I drank tons of coconut water, my new favorite beverage. I was asleep by 8:40.

My recovery was a major priority since the first race of my running year took place at 9:00 A.M. the following day. I figured odds were good that I wouldn't even make it to the race, and that if I did, finishing may not be in the cards. Instead, I woke at 7:00 on Sunday morning surprised to discover that I felt great. I made it to the race on time and ran a very respectable, if not record-setting, four-mile race, and followed it with one of the most productive Sundays I've had in a long time. Contrary to my expectations, Saturday's debacle seemed to lead to pretty good pay-offs.