The Little Old Lady Behind The Blog

“What are you? A 95 year old woman?”

Yes CJC. Yes I am.

It’s funny because it’s so true. For as young as I look, I’m really just an old lady in a 30 year old uniform. I could sit and play cards all day talking about “...‘member when so & so...”, eat cabbage and cornbread for supper, and fall to sleep to Pat & Vanna making dreams come true at the spin of the wheel. Meeting my old lady friends at Macy’s for the One Day Sales in my matching leopard printed everything and Sizzler for lunch! Home by 6pm, sleep by 8pm.

That could be my life and I would be content. 

But it’s not my life. In fact, I’m living life like a 30-something pretty convincingly; until it comes to one thing.

Technology.

Yes. This is my phone. And I FB from it.

I could use my laptop in place of my free weights. My phone is the Sprint equivalent of a sidekick and I Love It! I almost had an emotional breakdown in January when I thought I would have to upgrade to a smart phone – in the middle of the Spring Store. Until last year, I used an mp3 player to run/workout with. The same type my girls got me for Mother’s Day in Arkansas, circa 2007/8. I have an iPod touch now. It came in the mail. Unexpectedly from one of my past RHDs who had heart palpitations when I told her what I was planning to do one day...

Me: I can’t believe I lost my mp3 player! Dang. Now I have to get another one... I’m missing hella workouts... *clap*clap* no music *clap*clap*

Her: Another one what? An iPod? Right?

Me: Girl bye! I’on know how to use that mess! 

Her: But you use an iPad! IT’S THE SAME THING!!! But smaller...

Me: No, my students show me how to use an iPad. When they gone I’m over here f’ing up all the settings and stuff. *and that one guy...who fixed my iPad up for me*le sigh* 

What I’m about to do, is go to Best Buy and get me an mp3 player. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll ask for the best one.

Her: No. No it doesn’t. Please don’t do that. Nobody is going to help pick out a damn mp3 player.

Me: Maybe. Email me a link to that iPod thingie and I’ll see...

...sees the price of the iPod touch...

Me: You out yo’ damn mind you think I’m going to spend that much for something I’ll have to read the instructions manual for – twice – just to play music that I still have CDs for! Jesus did not die on the cross for that...

...2 weeks later...

Me: OMG! I just love surprises!!!! What is this? I wonder who sent it!!

-_- Oh. An iPod touch. #fcuk

I didn’t know what a selfie was. I knew it was something having to do with “self” #SATprep but in the context of conversations had no idea. I thought FaceTime was wanting to talk to someone face-to-face, like in real life and not through a smart device. Someone asked to snap chat me, I thought that meant take my picture and discuss it. When I realized I could bank from these things (smart devices), like deposit a damn check bank, you would have thought Noah and the Ark just passed by from the look on my face. Playing music from these things in your car literally blew my mind. And when Eboogie told me about the BUMP app, I had a Fred Sanford inspired moment. If you say something to me and I look a little confused, I’m just trying to remember it long enough to look it up on Urban Dictionary. Like “shaking it like a red nose” – apparently that has nothing to do with Rudolph twerking. #WhoKnew?

I suppose there are some actual reasons why I’m reluctant to travel to this technological century with you all. It’s hella expensive. When car notes are greater than or equal to the price of the phone, that’s problematic for me. Or how fragile they are. I had seen so many cracked iPhone screens, I thought they came that way, like it was a cool effect or something. 

But then I realized that it’s the 95 year old lady in me. And she walks into the room unnoticed because everyone is lost in the smartness of their device. Like at trivia, when we realize all the obscure things we used to know, before we became students of Just Google It University #JGIT. I knew that He-Man was from Eternia, but couldn’t remember that Battle Cat’s name was Cringer. I kept saying, “It starts with a “g”, or something, I think...” #welostpoints. Or, how we stopped, to varying degrees, relying on our instincts to get around. Instead we “map our route” to places we’ve been before. I have driven to LA from the Bay Area so many times, I could do it blindfolded. But, when I went last October,my first thought was, “Where is my GPS? #storage #damn #waitIknowwhereI'mgoing #atleastIthinkIdo...”

Don’t get me wrong. There are wonderful things that come with living in the virtual world with all of you. It’s certainly gotten me out of a situation here or saved the day there. 

I’d just rather write you. A letter. And put a stamp on it. And mail it. I mean a text is cool, and FaceTime is awesome, but something about it just doesn’t connect to the “95 year old lady who had difficulty taking selfies until CJC showed her that you could press that side button thingie this weekend-but it's still kinda hard-can you help me?” in me. 

I know that one day, probably soon, I’ll have to join you all. When that day comes know that...

1.    I’ll cry real tears.

2.    I’ll have lots of questions. Hella questions.

3.    I’ll say things like, “Now what did I do with that phone thingie...”

4.    I’ll probably squint as I look at the screen and hold it up, and far, and away, like I’m near sighted.

5.    I’ll look like a deer in headlights when you show me how to do something on it that Every 6 Year Old Everywhere can do.

6.    I’ll cry real tears. 

I’m going to hold out. I’m going to be the Miss Irrelevant of smart phones. And, I think I’m excited about this. *posing for my photo shoot*

#HelpingMeLikeHella

In an earlier diatribe about my #RunningLikeHella experience, I noted something special. Something unexpected. Something that changed this whole running game for me. A friend. My friend who came looking for me, to ensure that I finished.

So here is what is interesting about all of this. It started out as an idea me and some friends came up with, right? #14in2014 born in a FB thread. Then it turned into my Race Calendar in which somehow 44 races = 14 medals, right? But before that, I had a revelation that this was bigger than me, and kind of about the other people in my village, right?

Confused? Yea. Me too.

I think I knew early on that other people would be part of my experience. That’s easy to figure out because I am #InvitingPeopleLikeHella to run with me. Like this past Tuesday night at Happy Hour. Anyone who knows me knows I’m serious about these medals and ish. Inquiring about my race experiences and seeing my eyes light up like I’m high on acid or something. I go on, and on, and on. Then it comes…almost like clockwork… “So, when are you going to run with me?” … “We can do any distance you want.” … “It doesn’t matter if you’re fast, it only matters that you start and finish!”

It feels like a canned speech. But it’s true. I mean it. Every single word.

And that was the extent of “others” as it related to #14in2014. Other people joining me for various race experiences. And me getting to be a proud “Running Mom” on their first #MedalMonday like that show with those dancing kids and those crazy Mamas.

But it’s more than that. It was that feeling I got nearing the end of that 6.6 miles journey into the depths of Hades. I wanted to quit, but I “knew” that I would not. I wanted to be faster, but my calf muscles had no fast twitch anything left for that, and really, it’s not like there were tons of people around me. I was near the end. I felt so horrible. Like I let my team down. The one time people IN the race experience were counting on me – I did not come through. I have been running The Dish, and this is how I perform on Race Day? Denzel should have put me on the bench next to Petey, because I was not giving him a star performance. #wealwaysrememberthetitans

I didn’t deserve to wear that Leg 2 t-shirt. There was nothing about what I did that was great.

 I put on my good hair to see you finish!

And like my fairy godmother (who I envision as Whitney from the made-for-TV-movie-with-Brandy version of Cinderella) waved her wand, SM and I turned the corners at the same time. She was coming from the exchange point, and me, like the phoenix crawling out of the ashes of the elevation map from the race expo.

I wanted to cry. Because I felt like I failed. Like, “Damn, they had to send a SEARCH PARTY for me?” But that is not the look she was giving me. She was happy to see me. She was cheering me on. She was encouraging me. Wait. She’s excited that I made it to this point?

You know honestly, I am getting teary eyed just thinking about it. SM is far more fit than I, physically fit and capable of moving at a pace much faster than the one bringing me in to Leg 3. She did not force me to go any faster than I could, and through that #BlackGirlRun playlist I could hear her musically muffled voice keeping me focused on my goal. On what I set out to do that morning. This past January. That day on Facebook in November. Run.

Start 14 times, and Finish 14 times, and get My 14 medals.

She would not let me quit.

It seems a small thing in the grand scheme of it all. I mean, on the surface, all she did was jog a few tenths of a mile with me, right? I mean, it’s not like she was huffing and puffing like I was at the end. It’s not like she’s even all serious about this 14 medal thing, right? Does she even know how serious this is to me? How important it is to me? How I obsess about running races? How tired my staff is about hearing about them?

She got nothing that day. No awards. No accolades. No special treatment. No supporter’s medal. Nothing. Yet, she gave more than I could have anticipated.

Help. I did not know that I would need help to do this. Like while I am running, in the process of getting from Start to Finish, that I would need help from my friends, in that particular moment.

Thank you SM for helping me finish. For helping us all to finish. So that we could all finish strong together. It meant everything to me.

Every. Single. Thing.

#OldManRunninLikeHella

So, I told you about the finish line, right? How we, the League (of Extraordinary Black Girls Running) finished strong together, right? It was amazing.

Well, there was something else that happened, before that amazing thing happened. Something actually kinda awful, really. As we awaited Leg 4, we cheered in the weary Leg 4’s & half and full marathoners. Those who came out to the streets of Oakland to find their individual greatness, right? Many of whom, like me, at so many races, showed up alone, pinned that race bib to their chest in silence, hit the shuffle on the playlist eyes closed, and waited for the signal to start stretching to keep warm. Eventually, they would cross the finish line, be adorned with their medal, and celebrate in the quiet of their smart device, hashtagging every single moment.

That old man had hella "umph"!

Yea, they were there. In all ages, shapes, and sizes. Like this one elderly Caucasian man. This elderly man who was finishing the full marathon. He was creeping in to the finish line, still moving, slightly hunched. One foot in front of the other. One arm swing after the next. We went wild! “You Got This!” … “You’re Almost There!” … “Get Your (Eternal) Glory!” … “WoooHooo!” Endless clapping. When I tell you those Black Girls who were shaking their pompoms for #TeamTallsAndSmalls were great, honey chile, they were GREAT! They made every runner feel like the winner they proved themselves to be!

So back to someone’s Grandpa I was talking about. He was one of the many runners we cheered in. Like I said, creeping in, slightly slouched. Well, he looked dog tired. And I wondered if he would make it. However, we were literally maybe 500 feet from the finish line, so I didn’t think anything of it. I was ready to fix my gaze upon the next runner, but I could not take my eyes off of him. I wanted to see him finish. I wanted to see him be great just like I did at the end of Leg 2. Be hella great.

And in slow motion, it happened. He slowly slouched and crept in just to the spot needed for gravity to do the rest. He fell, hard to the pavement, collapsing just a few hundred feet from the spot where we generally expect most people to collapse after 26.2 miles. Cries for medics, help and assistance were instantaneous. Spectators came out to the street to surround him, so that incoming runners wouldn’t run into him.

This was about the same time Leg 4 (Small 2) was nearing the finish. It was time for me to run in with the team. Our friends yelled and signaled me, breaking my trance. And I left that moment, that sight, to return back to my life.

The health care staff assisted the elderly marathoner across the finish line and took care of him. We assisted ourselves to chicken and waffles.

I selfishly thought about that man today. What if it were me? I mean it is a real possibility. I push myself to limits. I am never really 100% sure about this at the start. But that will to finish? It’s strong, yo. Hella strong. I’ve said to myself thousands of times “Man, forget this, I’m done.” But oddly enough, I’m saying that and moving forward. I have yet to say that and stop. Or turn back. Or quit. It is quite possible that I might fall to the pavement. Hello, I drink (sometimes) the night before races. I’m pretty sure they advise against that in Runner’s World Magazine. Sometimes I want to finish so bad, I forget to hydrate, or power through cramps when I should just take a break, or do double days in the heat – like I’m getting a scholarship for this or something?!?! #putmeincoach

And what happens if I fall to the pavement? For whatever reason. If this were my running will and testament, it would read, “Whatever you do, before you do it, make sure I finish. Give me the oxygen from the other side of the finish line.”

I know that older man runner felt the same way. Medical attention is important, but he came there for that medal.

I did too. There’s a tiny *miniscule* part of me that is so super cool with leaving Oakland without a medal. I can remember the vision of him crossing the finish and getting his. Seeing that kind of commitment in real life was priceless. How the entire world conspired to make sure that he started and finished right in front of me #alchemy. To make sure he found his greatness. Hella Greatness.

I needed that.

#RUDELIKEHELLA

begins with: Oakland is Hella Rude. Hella.

I’m still bitter that I didn’t get a damn medal. Hella bitter. On the day of the race, when I realized that indeed, Las Vegas was happening to me all over again, I cried. A few real tears. I didn’t cry too long, because my team needed me to get it together to get those group pictures. But trust, tears fell.

And my laptop was turned on.

And this was sent via email. 

Cause ain’t nobody got time to wait for USPS for this.

Greetings,

You know, the last time something like this happened to me, I was too tired, too worn out and too sore to plead my case to a race staff member. Oh, when I said “something like this” I meant the last time I ran a race that “ran” out of medals. It seems that everybody and everything was running like hella in Oakland, huh? I actually thought, after Rock n’ Roll Las Vegas #redemption #2013 #neverforget, that this would never happen to me. Like being struck by lightning. It’s pretty damn rare already, but should it happen, it’ll only be once.

#TheDarkConOfLeg2 #WellPlayedOakland

Look, I get it. Planning an event like the Oakland Running Festival for the past five years has been a big freaking deal. Like all of the planning. The late nights and early mornings coordinating stuff so that on one particular day each year, thousands of people could feel individual greatness, even from a relay team.

Just like Sunday. Like #TeamTallsAndSmalls.

And when I say “great”…we were great! Hella Great. From the coordinated uniforms, to the #blackgirlsshakintheirpompoms who followed us to every exchange to record it – we inspired somebody somewhere. I know that because my best friend told me. Who is he? Oh, he’s the guy that was there the last time something like this happened to me. He had to help me make sense of things, so in this letter, you would not have to fill in the words from the over usage of *&^%$##* type characters. Because I got hella - hella characters.

Even in the days of #BlackGirlsRun, it’s not as easy as you think to find three black girls to run a marathon relay with you. Especially one in the City of Oakland. It happens to be pretty gosh-damn difficult. Even for my intellectual aptitude, remarkable vocabulary and enthusiasm for running (for medals and mimosas). People actually told me no. And meant it.

But I have great friends. And among them three volunteered – kinda. They showed up and performed. And Leg 4 even ran in a cotton t-shirt?! Do you know what that meant? How much convincing that took? It was kind of a big freaking deal. 

I am so honored that they would do this very important thing with me.

There I go again talking about stuff I haven’t introduced. By “important thing” I mean #14in2014. Some among us got the bright idea to run in 14 medal races in 2014. Get 14 medals at our own pace, in our own time, before year’s end. Today was not just a relay with my friends. It was supposed to be my medal #5.

Oh, did I mention that I had to run Leg 2 in order to earn that medal – medal #5? Oh, my bad, not Leg 2, I meant hell. I had to run into and out of the depths of hell of Oakland to earn medal #5. So what you’re saying to me by not having my medal is that I literally lost parts of my life, my ego, my pride and my beauty (I looked a hot ass mess at the exchange) and I have no medal to show off around the office on Monday. For Medal Monday. You know, the Monday after race weekend where your greatness is applauded by colleagues and strangers? It’s like a holiday. A picture taking holiday.

Here’s the thing, you set the price. You put this together, you decided what it cost, and you put it on your website. I potentially would have paid anything. Anything. And I did. I’ve paid it before, and I will do it again, in like a week. Do you know why? Because I run to be great – hella great – and somehow I’ve horcruxed that greatness into the medal I get at the finish line.

Normally, this is the point in the correspondence where I sugar coat my position, you know? Try to be understanding. Make an earnest, impassioned appeal amidst sharing my discontent. But in the days of memes some-ecards and hashtags, ain’t nobody, and I mean nobody, got time for that. I am at home, trying not to move my legs in more than 35° in any given direction, on a day where there were so many things to be excited about. And I am in the bed absolutely bitter. Hella bitter. I ran, I was great, I have no medal. Now, in the ever eloquent and so fitting words of Riley Freeman – it’s time for you to pay what you owe – My Relay Medal.

I need my medal. It might not be a big deal to you, but it’s pretty damn serious to me.

Regards,

#TeamTallsAndSmalls

Relay Bib #9001, Leg 2

I. Will. Get. My. Medal.... Son.

I was hot as fish grease in Texas on a Friday! I honestly expected a little compassion, or consideration. Like Michelle from my Rock n’ Roll Las Vegas experience. But no, my dear running buddies and friends. This was Oakland. And Oakland is hella rude. Check out the response I got:

I have your medal in my office right now if you are nearby.

That's it?! That's ALL you have to say?!?!?!?! I quoted Riley Damn Freeman! Gas is more than $4 a gallon and you want me to drive to downtown Oakland?!?!?! FOH!

I swear I hate Oakland. #ILovedRunningLikeHellaButIWantMyMedal

I RUN…AND STUFF: Race 6, (no) Medal 5

Yea, you saw those parenthesis right. There was a race. A race that had a medal. Race, with a medal, that I did not get. But just like one monkey don’t stop no show, no one (another) race without a medal won’t stop me from regaling you with my tales from the pavement. The pavement which happened to be in the hood. Tales from the hood(ed) pavement.

And by hood, I mean Oakland. I had friends from Sactown, the Bay Area, and back down coming to do this with me. You know? That League of Extraordinary Black Girls Running, better known as, #TeamTallsAndSmalls!

And today’s (no) medal challenge? Oakland. In the morning. Hella early.

As the first 3 legs of the most amazing relay team got prepared to start and shuttle to starts, we saw something amazing. Black Girls. Black Girls that Run taking a picture. A group picture. Hella Black Girls. That’s when Leg 3 looked over at me, and we agreed. We Run “and stuff”…but them? They Run. Period. #motivation

START: You know, at 7:00am, the sun isn’t really up. I actually didn’t see the start line. But my girl CJC #LegOne #GreenOne #TallOne did! Go Girl!

           LEG ONE, 6.2 miles – Miles 1 to 6.2: As I waited for Leg One’s arrival, I got to know (kinda) some folks on their way to hell. I mean, to the Leg 2 part of the course. You know, the part of the course that traverses the depths of hell? Anyway, this chick, one of those #ImSeriousAboutThisBlackGirlRunninIsh gets on the shuttle. She was like, “Fck you Leg 2! I’on care about your inclines, your elevation or your gottdamn mountain! I’on give a damn ‘bout no hill.” And just sat down. On the shuttle. I mean school bus #howdidweeversit3toaseat – taking us to Rockridge BART. I was afraid to talk to her.

           Minutes later, a lone runner passes. Passes, in under 30 minutes. As in, he passed 6.2 inclining miles in under 30 minutes. #icant #noseriously,iactuallycant

You want me, to run that? FOH! #iHateOakland

         LEG TWO, 6.6 miles – Miles 6.2 to 12.8

Mile 6.2 to 7: Where is that WTF is this ISH meme that LLW is always posting? I know this was the elevated leg of the race, but damn?! Can we ease a sista into this? #nope

Mile 7 to 8: Can you catch a cab from here? I mean, the freeway is RIGHT THERE #incliningstill

Mile 8 to 9: *reply to CJC’s text* “It hurts.” #MoreInclines

Mile 9 to 10: This. Cannot. Be. My. Real. “I paid money to do this.” Life. #didImentionthatthiswastheelevatedpartofthecourse

Mile 10 to 11: *reply to CJC’s text* “I hate Oakland.”

Mile 11 to 12: I’m not running up another damn incline. That’s it. I’m being hazed. Hazed for damn medals. #STILLGOINGUPYONDER

        *passes the Temple at the top of the mountain top* Oh Father God In Heaven we’re going down! Finally! Where is my “Jesus Saves When Sallie Mae Withdraws” playlist?!

Mile 12 to 12.8: I got this. I can make it. I’m almost there. I quit.

Syreeta, thank you. *she runs remaining part of the leg in with me to the exchange…I almost cried #almost*

           LEG THREE, 7.0 miles – Miles 12.8 to 19.8: Just leave me here. Yes, right here at this freeway underpass. There is nothing left of me that could be of any use – to anyone. This was a really bad idea. Why did they listen to me? Am I even still in Oakland? I really feel like this is somewhere else. And where, Oh where, Is my damn medal? It’s at the start? O_o #TheHell?! I mean c’mon!

Wait. What’s that? We going to McDonalds? Oh, I got a little time for that. #fries

            LEG FOUR, 6.4 miles – Miles 19.8 to 26.2: This whole experience was amazing! I wish I could have been faster, but at least I was here. And the homey is about to beast this last leg. I know that because she’s hungry. And literally nothing comes between her and her next meal. So she’s basically going to invoke her inner African and run these last 6 miles in like 12 minutes.

FINISH: The team that drinks mimosas together, finishes races together. Let’s cross this line. Together.

That was the most amazing part for me – running through the finish together. We had our individually celebrated moments at our starts. Welcomed in to our exchanges, and were pampered by the BEST cheering squad on the East, West, North, or South side of the Bay Area! We waited patiently for our 4^th leg to arrive, to make us a whole team again. And each of us jogged our way in with her. #FinishStrong

In that moment it didn’t bother me, like it does right now (and for many days after) that I was #HellaSlowRunningLikeHella in Oakland, or that people were fussy waiting to eat, or looking for me, or ready to leave, or that I might potentially miss the UCLA vs SFA #bigsistervslittlesister battle for a spot in the Sweet Sixteen. In that moment, I was running with people who thought enough of me to be part of something much bigger than I could have possibly imagined #14in2014.

And I was sure to thank each of them.

Over chicken, waffles and bougie mimosas #champagne&sparkingcitrus.

Today’s Race: Leg 2, 6.6miles, Oakland Marathon Relay, Oakland, CA

Medaled Miles to date: 30.17 miles

Total Raced Miles to date: 33.27miles

9 Medals To Go ǁ 36% Complete