Reporters Monica Hesse and Dan Zak face off in the Running of the (Inaugural) Balls

In which our fearless reporters compete to attend the most inaugural galas, completing ridiculous and dignity-defying feats along the way. Read the rules of the game.

Graphic

The routes they ran

OFFICIAL RULES

Running of the Balls: The rules

Dan Zak and Monica Hesse

Read the guidelines behind the amazing race.

7:15 p.m. Saturday. DAN: In the locker room of the Post’s gym, I don my fauxedo and plan a shoot-the-moon strategy. I will hit the two outlying balls first: the Bluegrass Ball up in Woodley Park and then Texas’s Black Tie & Boots Ball down at National Harbor. No one has ever attempted such a ball-related feat. My photographer, Jonathan Newton, and I hop on the Red Line at Farragut North at 7:25.

7:35 p.m. MONICA: Intel tells me that Dan is starting in Northwest D.C. I’m beginning way down south for Black Tie & Boots, then backtracking up through the freezing District. I am calling my strategy the Ginger Rogers: Backward and in high heels. High heels, long johns and a HotHands hand-warmer stuffed down my bra. THAT’S HOW I ROLL.

8 p.m. DAN: And we’re off! At the media check-in desk inside the Bluegrass Ball, a former Romney staffer asks whether she can help me find anyone. WHY, YES SHE CAN. I ask to be taken to an elected official. Any elected official.

8:01 p.m. MONICA: There is a lot of giant boot paraphernalia at the Black Tie & Boots Ball. But no giant tie. Why? Also, bales of hay. Also, Miss Texas. Someone says Miss Texas is here. I shall find her. Tiara = exit cue (see rules).

8:02 p.m. DAN: “Dan, this is Congressman Brett Guthrie.” Bingo. We chat near a tray heaped with half-empty tumblers of bourbon as Kentuckians cascade down a carpeted staircase to the ballroom for a dinner of short ribs and soft grits. “I have Heaven Hill and Jim Beam in my district,” explains Rep. Guthrie (R). “I lost Maker’s Mark in redistricting.”

8:09 p.m. DAN: After a photo with Guthrie, I’m out the door and hoofing it back to the Red Line. I literally run onto a train bound for Silver Spring as the doors are closing. The Metro gods are with me.

8:15 p.m. MONICA: Must find Miss Texas. Must find Miss Texas. Everyone says she is nine feet tall and wearing a big dress and a crown. Why can’t I find her? Must find Miss Texas. Focus on nothing else.

My photographer, John McDonnell, spots a brigade of attractive people dressed like cowboys and cowgirls. Must find Miss Texas. One of the burly cowboy men — part of a dance troupe called the Wildcat Wranglers — says he can lift a cowgirl over his head like a barbell. (Must find Miss Texas.) He says he can lift me over his head like a barbell.

Forget Miss Texas. LIFT ME.

8:22 p.m. DAN: The charter-bus gods are not with me. I just miss a shuttle to Black Tie & Boots outside Union Station. I board the next one and wait.

8:23 p.m. MONICA: Must find Miss Texas. Texas is a land of beauty queens. They have not delivered one to me. I am surly.

But wait. Waaaait. My new friends, the Wranglers, offer to teach me a line dance. A group dance? Yes, please. Exit cue!

I learn to Tush Push. I Tush Push for my freedom.

8:33 p.m. DAN: Still waiting on this bus. After a whizbang start at Kentucky, we’re hemorrhaging time as we wait for all of Texas to board. Lots of crystal earrings and buzz cuts.