It was amazing.
I was a little concerned my wee girl might not be able to walk 3.1 miles. Then I mapped the distance from our hotel in San Francisco to Union Square to Fisherman's Wharf and realized she could probably run it.
I was right.
(It also occurs to me that I still need to write about that trip. Later.)
We showed up all clean and bright with bandannas to protect our hair and goggles for our eyes.
The music started thumping, the people started cheering, and the surge of white-shirted walker and runners shifted from foot to foot waiting for the start blast.
When it did, we took off at a slow jog.
Not too far away, we came to our first burst of color. bright yellow dye flew through the air, peppering our arms, legs, shirts and shorts. Everyone put their arms up and welcomed the color bombs being blasted. Smiling though the taste of corn starch, we went to the next station where a fraternity waited.
Their faces and bodies were already covered in blue. A boy with wild hair jumped in front of us and yelled, "Blue Bomb!" throwing a handfuls in the air around us where it mixed with the yellow to make green. To our left, the blue looked purple. We were finally acquiring our rainbow.
Green and pink were further down the route. Elizabeth balked at the green but celebrated the pink.
I, of course, was amazed at how cool everyone was. They didn't try to smother our little girls with color, but took care to throw some at their level on their chest and backs. Tara and I decided that was why we looked fairly clean from the shoulders up.
We crossed the finish line towards the end of the group, mere minutes from the color blast that featured all runners and volunteers throwing handfuls of dye into the air.
On the way home, I asked a tired Elizabeth if she'd had fun.
"It was the best Mother-Daughter day!"
"Except the green. I didn't want the green."