#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