Seattle: 1, Arielle: 0

Early this morning I returned from a whirlwind trip across the country, having spent a grand total of 48 hours in the great state of Washington.

I had been meaning to visit Seattle for years, but a sorority sister's wedding was the reason I finally bit the bullet and hopped on that 6 hour flight.

Despite it being a super short trip, I managed to squeeze in a lot of touristy time and indulge in the delicious food, beer, and coffee that the city is known for. But this is not a vacation recap. This is a story of literal pain and suffering. I like to call it, "the time Seattle fucked me up real good."

On the day of the wedding, I returned to my hotel room after a morning of exploring to make myself look pretty. I double checked my directions and left myself what I thought was plenty of time to get to the 5pm wedding, to be held at a cultural center in the middle of one of Seattle's many parks.

I walked to the bus stop and proceeded to wait. And wait. And wait and wait and wait.

I tried to hail a cab. I started calling as many car services as humanly possible. No dice. Finally, the stupid bus came, so even though I really needed a direct ride at that point, I got on, seeing no other option.

 

I got off the bus and it was 4:58. The wedding website had said it was a .75 mile walk from the bus to the center. So I jogged to the park, about .25 miles away, and then once I got there started following the signs to the wedding location. After a few minutes, the park sign said the center was still a full mile away. The .75 mile estimate was completely wrong, and I realized I'd be even later than I thought. At this point I broke into a full sprint in my wedding dress and roll-up flats, which offer foot support equivalent to a sheet of paper. I was carrying my clutch, a plastic bag with my heels in it, and a ridiculously heavy gift bag filled with bath products that another sorority sister had insisted I bring with me to give to the bride and groom as a wedding gift on her behalf. 

I'm usually an insanely punctual person, and I was pretty annoyed that the one time I was running late was the one time I flew across the country just to be here (or should I say THERE) for this one moment.

I don't know if I've emphasized this enough on this blog, but I do not run. At all. Ever. I don't run for a variety of reasons, starting with the fact that I have no cartilage in my right knee and ending with the fact that RUNNING IS FUCKING AWFUL. Have you guys tried it? If not, don't. And definitely don't try it right after you spent all this time trying to make yourself look nice and definitely also don't try it while carrying bags and not wearing supportive shoes.

I flew through the doors of the wedding venue at 5:18, dripping with sweat, tomato-red in the face, and pretty much unable to breathe. Music was playing but as far as I could tell, no wedding had occurred. 2 minutes later, the bride came out, looking gorgeous. 5 minutes after that, the ceremony was over. I seriously came THIS CLOSE to missing the entire thing.

The rest of the wedding vastly improved. The food was great, the wine was plentiful, and I made a lot of friends by sharing my story of being the only fucking moron to take public transportation to the wedding. I voluntarily ate salmon (this is a big deal for me), I demonstrated my prowess at the Gangnam Style dance, and got to see the joy on a whole lot of West coast faces when the DJ put on "Thrift Shop," by Seattle-born Macklemore.

While I was fortunate to be able to put the annoying sprinting-to-the-wedding episode behind me for the night, I was sadly unable to put it behind me forever. 24 hours after the wedding I was already on a red eye flight back to New York, and when I arrived home at 7am this morning I promptly went to bed. By the time I woke up a few hours later, the residual stiffness and soreness had finally set in, and I am now in so much pain that I actually CANNOT WALK.

No exaggeration. I'm limping around my apartment like an asshole because my whole left foot is so messed up that I had to cancel my grand evening plans of going to Target because even with sneakers on I can't put any weight on my foot. I don't think I have any actual injuries, this is just my body's way of telling me to NOT RUN ON A PAVED ROAD IN THE WORLD'S THINNEST FLATS (my cartilage-less knee, by the way, is the only part of my lower body that actually feels fine, which is a W).

So I've been popping some tags Advil and hoping I'm all good to leave the house for work tomorrow.

Unmarried friends, keep note of this for the future. No matter what happens, nothing will keep me from missing your wedding.