PRing in San Diego #ItWasEpicHomey

Someone once said that leadership wasn’t about being better than everyone else. But rather, being better than a former self. Your former self, specifically. If one is better than they once were, they may perhaps possess what it takes to be a leader. Humph. Well, perhaps…

So… Year Two of this #EpicSummerRun and I have returned to the precise location where I did just that. I, just a year ago, almost to the day, realized that I was better than my former self. Only I had no idea that was even happening. I had no idea it was a thing. Uh, you know why I was there… #Medals

As such, I PR’d my half marathon time. I PR’d that very first half marathon (ever) time by 32 minutes #Vegas2011 #MedalessMonday #NeverForget and that last half marathon #Vegas2013 before #EpicSummerRun2014 by 17 minutes. I killed those Rock n Roll Las Vegas times! I suppose that I figured that I would be just a runner. Definitely not a good one. Not a runner I would describe as bad either #ImSoPerfect but never one that would be accomplished in a way that a PR would mean something.

Gurl, bye.

There are too many unattended happy hours and concerts in the world to try to be actually great on the pavement. I need more time for all of this.

So, in all the attempting to no be great, I found some greatness. Because, I’m a leader. The Runleader, actually. I kind of do this for fun. And, I encourage other people to do it for (my) fun too. Because, that’s definitely a thing.

I am the Runleader. I didn’t really put much emphasis into that running part, but I have been all over the leading #ImALeo #ItComesNaturally. Encouraging my people to get out there and run! From the runners who don’t know that they are really great runners, to the runners who are mostly walkers, but jog sometimes – eff you! They are great too! Watching them start. And meeting their new selves when they finish. Sore. Tired. Weary. Mentally Spent. Smiling. Medal around the neck. Complete.

I take so much from them. And they have no idea just how much it sustains me. But they don’t always get to see that though. The Runleader has much to do. But, while I’ve been leading, I’ve been doing some running myself.

…and, well, err, shaved 6 minutes off my “fastest” time…no matter how long or short it took me to haul ass 13.1 miles…6 gottdamn minutes is a big deal! 6 minutes? 6 minutes? Not 5 minutes, or 4 minutes, but 6 minutes? *in my A.I. voice* …do you know what could happen in 6 minutes?

You could…

…walk into a 7-11 twice, make a cherry cola slurpee, by a $2 scratch off for your (race)wife, say Hey to the clerk, remember that you forgot to get a ginger ale – grab one, then go back to the ginger ale’s because you want to confirm the price, then you realize you can get 2 of them for $2.22 – and you know your (race)wife is going to say something about spending almost $2 for 1 when you could have paid an additional $0.22 and gotten 2 of them, and you ain’t trying to hear that, so you grab another one, pay for it, get back in your car, and have like a minute to spare.

6 minutes??? Even damn Doug E. Fresh knew what a big deal 6 minutes was…even he needed a 6 minute alert so he could be “on”…6 MINUTES! He was like, Bruh…let me know when I got 6 minutes. I wanna make sure I’m ON. And they were like, Cool…no problem Doug.

Since leadership is about being better than the person you once were, maybe I wasn’t much of a leader because I sure as the sun is shining in the middle kingdom did not expect this. I was like legit surprised when I saw the unofficial time posted. I know Alicia & Dr. Splits were thinking, wheeetttt is wrong with her? because that scream came from my soul like Shug singing for that redemptive hug from Daddie #GetYourHealingShug #IWasThereForThat. Like I just knew that it wasn’t going to be better than anything I’ve done. And I was already looking for excuses while the pages loaded. I’m supposed to be great, but I just “knew” I wasn’t on this day. My knee waasss hurting… I didn’t get enough sleep… I didn’t get a good pre-run stretch in… Perhaps those things were true, but were they the real reasons? All of these obstacles, known and unknown, but really the real one… Me. And how I feel about her. Myself with these issues, yo.

And perhaps you too. It could be running. Or maybe it’s some other form of elite athleticism #ImASeriousAthlete, or something else. But why is it, often on the brink of success, we choose to steal our own greatness? I need only think it and I could be it. I could be the one. But the thought of it is so far beyond me, it’s like I’d need to daily drink the blood of a unicorn to sustain it. Or go on a Narnian quest to find it. It requires something I don’t already possess. And it’s so perfect, so great, so rare, that it can’t be found in any old place, right? Right.

Everything about that is accurate. It does require something that I don’t possess – Confidence. That thing isn’t just in any old place. It’s inside of me, lost in my brokenness. Where all my failures, unlearned lessons, and mistake keep me hostage like hugs in San Diego #someonewillseewhatididthere. With just a little courage, I could unbind my confidence and be great.

Until then, I’ll just keep showing up. You won’t believe how hard that is to do, even after all of this running. Occasionally, I’ll do something a great person would do, you know? Like PR. Be great on accident. Or I’ll get a little help from the universe. Willing me to be great and whatnot.

I’ll keep being the Runleader the crew needs, until I can be the confident runner I need.

What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream. That's the point at which most people give up. #TheAlchemist

Me & My Hatchet #DontTellTheLoraxWhatIveDone

So, remember that time I told you that I did yard work? I know, I know, it’s still hard to believe. If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it either. But, we all know that it’s so unbelievable that it’s totally possible that it happened. Because, me.

Anyway, part of the yard work was a tree stump. It was a fruit bearing tree that wasn’t doing its job, so last year, Uncle chopped it down with a chainsaw. Left a lowly little stump. The plan was to do all this stuff we just did last year. But, nobody really has time for that. So it just kinda stayed there. While we paid no attention, it grew back. It was like, HA! Got’Em! Thought I was dead, hunh?

I did. He got me. But see, I got this hoe. And it’s hella loyal, even though the screw that held part of it together isn’t. You’re going down buddy.

And just like science, all those stray branches that grew back were gone. Got’Em.

As I sat in my chair looking at my handy work, pleased at the job I’d done, I realized that in a year’s time, I’d be doing this again. Who in the world has time for that?? Right. So as I contemplated the various experiments, I realized that, right?? Just dig up the stump and pull it out. Can’t grow if nothing is there.

What on Earth could possibly help me do that? *thinking, thinking, thinking* Ding! Got’It! An Axe! I’ll just go to the tool store and buy and Axe, then chop it down. Down Goes Frazier! Yasss! This is an awesome idea. Straight up lumberjack that stump, bro.

Until Shannnn overhears this idea. While the science made logical sense to me, she was thinking that Axe < Hatchet. So, yea, something with similar power, with dissimilar size and capacity to decapitate me. I hate when reason gets in the way of my sound science.

You just don’t know how happy I was! I bought a tool! All by myself! I could not wait to get out of the car and get to chopping. I had a game plan and everything. I wacked at the thickest part of the stump to see what I was working with. Fairly sharp. With enough power in the swing of my arm, this thing wasn’t going to be here long.

And away I chopped. Until I got interrupted.

A young fella saw me choppin’ away and figured that I was just too pretty a lil’lady to do that. He’s experienced with a hatchet so he’d take care of it, no problem. And just like that, all my science gone to waste.

I sat and thought about that moment. Had that been my Daddie, or my Uncle or even Running Hubby or Conference Hubby, I would have went inside, made a martini and watched from the window. But this guy right here? As spoiled as I am #LevelBrat, I was offended at the suggestion that there was something about me that would cause you to even engage in such a conversation. The gottdamn nerve! #YouDontKnowMeLikeThat #YouRealizeImHoldingAHatchetRight? Wheeettt are you doing? I got this. This here hatchet is MY here hatchet. I’m offended at the suggestion that you think I can’t do this, or that you think I shouldn’t be doing this. Humph.

I’m spoiled. Not even 48 hours ago, Uncle was commenting on his handy work. He says spoiled, I say well taken care of. We agree that I’m right when he’s not around. If it’s a task that requires some form of hard labor, I don’t have to do it. More often than not, it’ll be done and they’ll tell me about it. I love this arrangement, like really I do.

But, I’m not sure I want to have this arrangement with everyone. I think, perhaps, I don’t want to be spoiled by everyone. If you don’t know me, you can’t do these types of things for me. The difference between you (stranger) and them (Daddie, Uncle, Hubbies) is that they are fully aware of what I can do. They know that in a pinch or unsupervised, I’ll get the job done. They also happen to be aware of the fact that they have conditioned me to expect them to do it if they are close. Because, people have jobs and that’s the way our lives are set up.

All I wanted to do what hatchet away at that damn stump.

After he finished doing a half ass job, because he didn’t sit down and work out the science, I went back outside. I rolled up the grass around the stump and cleared an area. I, using science, dug up around the roots and exposed them. Then I went about my way hatchet’ing the roots and pulling them up. I figure, the base of the stump is too thick, so if I dig up all the roots extended in the ground, it’ll have a hard time growing back so fast. Then, I could get some tree killer stuff from the tool store and weaken it. Then, when nobody is looking, buy an axe because let’s be honest, it’s waaayyy cooler than a hatchet, and get to it.

That tree got me the first time. That tree stump has no clue of my capacity for vengeance. Your days in my backyard are numbered.

And um, do me a solid and keep this between us. I’d hate for The Lorax (or my Uncle...or hell, any of those dream killers our there) to find out. You know, him all speaking for the trees and whatnot.

I don’t have time for that.

#ThisHoeAintLoyal

I hurt myself from all the hoe’n. I shouldn’t hoe around so much. Hoe’n hurts. Honestly, I’m not cut out for it. I’m pretty sure my hoe’n technique was all wrong.

I know, I know. I should have gone with a professional instead of doing it myself.

You also realize I’m talking about my backyard, right? Right. 
#YouveGotADirtyMind

Look, it’s not easy being single in these streets. I’m out here trying to have that HGTV life in my backyard on a DollarTree budget. Ain’t no way. Ain’t. No. Way. But, I’m an extroverted, type A, you can’t tell me what I can’t do, just dare me, type personality, so, there’s that.

So, if you want a backyard, and you want to do it the right way with the wrong person, here’s what you do… Good Luck.

Find someone who actually cares enough to figure out how this works. This person isn’t you. It’s Shannnn. Otherwise known as Speedy, the sub 2.5 hour half marathon runner. This person will actually do research and ask real questions. And then write all the answers on a paper towel. Because, it’s us we’re talking about. Seriously. What did you expect?

Dig up the crap in your backyard standing in between you and lazy lounge chair with wine Saturdays. This is that crap that they just kinda let happen. It’s a mixture of dirt, weeds, crab (read: crap) grass, rocks, insects, and hopelessness. It’s really freakin terrible. It’s the backyard version of the child left behind. But, dig. Here’s the thing, you have to dig so much, which isn’t much, but so much for you, that you get a blister. You literally get a blister, from a half ass attempt at using a shovel, to dig up crap dirt.

Get your crazy someone (Shannnn) to rent a thingie called a rototiller. It’s like Edward scissors hands and shake weights on an elderly person’s walker attached to a gas motor. Not gonna lie, this thing is freaking cool. But, you’re in the house because, you’re allergic to dust and manual labor. And well, you got a blister using a shovel so, there’s that. You’re obviously not the most qualified person to operate this thingie. You also refer to it as a “digging thingie” so…sit down inside. Anyway, you need this thing to mix around all the crap stuff that isn’t great, to make it great. 

Measure crap. You have to know like how long and wide the space is so you can order the right amount of stuff. Look, what’s up with all the freaking questions? I mean, like why do you need to know how many feet? I walked in here with two – and they hurt. You should be able to look at the desperation in my eyes, divide that by the volume of my tears and know exactly what I need. I thought you were a professional.

Okay, this is the fun turned fcked up part: Pick up the crap. There is a place, let’s call it, Neverland where they grow lawns, like for you, then chop them up in rectangles, roll them up, and let you buy them. Yoooo homey, it has the grass already attached to dirt. All perfect and ish. They call it “sod”…I call it “thank you Lord”…crazy how the English language translates, hunh?

Anyway, you gotta get that amazing already done grass, some compost (don’t ask, I really still don’t know and I bought like 5 bags of it with a 3 something measurement because that’s important, but like, why the hell do I care?), and fertilizer crap.

Here’s where it gets interesting. You need a truck to haul all this stuff. That means you need an Uncle. But, you don’t need to give him real advance notice of any of your plans, because that would be silly. Why would you tell someone who could advise you of what you’ve planned to do, so they can warn you about your abilities in relationship to the task at hand? Crazy, right? Right.

Okay, so you swing by his place to ask him to help pick the stuff up, because, Avalanche #ItsBlue. He looks at you like Whheeettt In The Hell? Don’t mind that look. It’ll discourage you and throw you off your game. You promise him tickets to the fair, a car wash, and all the love a niece has in the world. He agrees.

When you go pick this stuff, be in the worst mood ever. I mean, you’ve got to be having the worst day ever because, you’re about to get dirty, and why would you be excited about that? Ways to get in that mood? Easy…you miss a DSW sale #FreeBagWithPurchase, miss the cutoff date for the cheap registration to your race so you have to pay $15 more than what you anticipated, a bottle of wine falls off the shelf and explodes on the pantry floor where you keep your snacks, you stub your toe on the bed frame – chipping the purple nail polish, and you remember you don’t have AC in your bedroom after you spend the day doing this crap.

Pissed off yet?

I’m here to pick up the readymade grass stuff.-_-

*confused but looks it up in the Matrix* Um….okay? Just um, pull around back. I’ll get someone to get it for you.

Okay. So, you sure this is grass, like already grown up grass? Right? I don’t want no kiddie grass. I want adult-paying-taxes-W2 grass.

Uh, yes. *he thinks he knows what I’m talking about*

Oh wait. I’m supposed to get some compostable stuff. Like a yard of it. *looks at text message* Oh, my bad “a yard of redwood compost”. I’m not sure what that is.

No problem. We’ll get someone to load it up.

Great, thanks.

******drive around to the back of the nursery******

*the man who’s supposed to help us, who like my Uncle knows this is a bad idea, but…*

You want me to put it in there? This isn’t going to fit.

Can’t you just load it up and drop it on?

*raises forklift with stuff on it, drops down over bed of truck, I see that it won’t fit*

Ugh. Fine, I’ll just put the rolls on. #OneByOne #RIPtomyclothes #RidinDirty

It’s okay, I’ll load it up. *begins loading the truck, I think he’s laughing*

*Uncle in the distance, who isn’t happy about his truck getting this dirty* And you’re taking it off when we get to the house by yourself! #HeIsSuperMad

So, the yard of compost isn’t going to fit in the truck. *we all look at the wheels getting low*

I mean, can’t you just put it in a box or something? How much is it? *realizing that my only frame of reference for a yard is my Mommie in the fabric store*

See that thing over there? It’s a whole scoop of it.

Wheeeeettt? What were you going to do with that scoop? Just dump it on?

Uh *cause that’s how this works* yea.

Why would a person do that? Oh no…you ain’t dumping that stuff in the back of MY Uncle’s car *you got me effed up* I’mma need yall to box that stuff up, or put it in bags or something! We’ll be back.

Unload that already made grass rolls. Bruh, these things look like brown and green swiss rolls. You take them, 1 by 1 off the truck and unload them. Because you think that this is easy and like, they’re little(r) than you thought, so you can totally do this. And you do this, because your Uncle isn’t going to help you at all because it’s dirty and he’s not dressed for this. After you bring in the last grass-swiss-roll you feel hella accomplished. Let them know, WOMAN did this! Right?? So, you get in the truck to see about getting a yard of this compostable dirty stuff, and your arms are on fire. You’re wondering why there are turning red and itching. What could you have possibly done to cause this to happen? Sure, you’re allergic to everything from the minute hand on the clock ticking to weather changing, but where did this feeling come from?

Grass. You’ve basically done the equivalent to rolling around in grass. And since you’re also allergic to your former and future selves, you’re breaking out. Uncle passes you two allergy pills. You are officially done with this endeavor. Everything about this is stupid.

Give up.

******back at the nursery******

Look, I need a yard of that dirt crap I bought, but you’re not about to dump it in the back of my Uncle’s truck. Why didn’t you tell me that’s what you were going to do??? Nobody has health coverage for that. Ol’boy said that crap comes in bags. Give me a yard of that crap.

*looks up from the Matrix* Well, a yard comes out to 9 bags. We only have 5 bags of the equivalent to what you purchased.

Gimme that. Look, I’m about to take this crap and attempt to make a backyard. I’m pretty sure I’m going to do a half ass job of it when I get there. I need to know how bad Imma eff up this readymade grass crap if I do a half ass job with this compost dirt crap?

Uh…I uh, think you’ll be okay. *looks away at something happening in the Matrix*

Finally... Dump the compost dirt crap. Sprinkle fertilizer seed crap on top of it. Mix it all up. Water it. Roll out the readymade grass from heaven on top. Water it again.

Go upstairs and take off the last of your dignity. Shed a single tear as a cup of dirt falls from your sports bra to the bathroom floor. You shed that tear because you realize you’ve been walking around with a cup of dirt literally in your sports bra that you could not feel…for hours. You also have two blisters and a stab wound from opening that bag of dirt crap. Get in the shower and wash away all of your hope in humanity.

You remember you’re also putting a garden back there. …and you don’t have AC in your bedroom.

Being Optimus Prime #OnATuesday

I see these posts all the time because, well, internets yo. They are everywhere. I mean, you expect them in your healthy lifestyle and fitness groups but they seem to pop up everywhere. And I suppose it is something to celebrate. You changed. Maybe you didn’t get any dough, but you changed, you changed, and that’s awesome. Especially if it’s the change you were wanting, right?

Because, weighing less is the goal. If you’re Sarah Jenks, you weigh less so you can live more. If you’re some of the other people I’ve seen in these innanets, then it’s to keep the blood pressure lower, prevent the prescriptions, or you’re just in need of some attention.

If you’re me, you….do your best to scroll right on by. No hate, no judgement, just a scroll. When you’re me, you’re not secure enough in yourself to post a picture of you weighing more, next to a picture of you weighing less. Because the less you weigh isn’t enough, even if your baby mama in Florida thinks you’re everything now…(not that you weren’t before, but…well…less)...yes, that’s your reality. But, not really. Your reality? You’re still afraid of scales. Sure you bought one because it was purple, but you don’t ever actually use it.

#LawdDontSlideToTheRightAnymoreThanYouAlreadyDo

And if you’re me, you know the transformation on the inside is nothing like the one on the outside. Because where you’ve lost the most weight, most people will never see. So it’s hard to participate because you don’t have a before and after of that for your picture collage.

I don’t hold my humanity against myself like I used to. Oh my goodness, I was so hard on myself. I took the whole “two people playing a role” in a conflict thing to the extreme. I always knew it was my fault, and I always spent way too much time trying to figure out not just what I did wrong, but the long exhaustive list of all the things I did wrong - because, I’m a terrible people who constantly makes mistakes though she really wants to be perfect. I’m that person who gave herself a hard time for being human, regularly. But, conversely, forgave people because they were flawed, cause that's the condition of humanity. But somehow not my condition. See where I'm going with this. I’m a mess. I’m still a mess I suppose…but one that weighs less.

I just don’t anymore. And if you really know me, like my best friend, then you know what that means. I just won’t, and I don’t feel any kind of way about it. There was a time when I wouldn’t, and it would eat me up inside. How could I not show up? I was invited. All of my friends will be there, and I’m the only one defecting. You’ve always done it. You’ve always been there. It’s the “right” thing to do. I have learned the hard way that I don’t have to, and that’s okay. And the longer I allow other people’s perceptions of/reactions to my decisions to impact me, the longer I am going to be unhappy. If I don’t want to show up, I won’t – and won’t feel any kind of way about it. If I want to go alone, I’ll get one ticket to the show, and enjoy SF Jazz all by myself.

I understand choice better than I once did. I don’t always get it immediately, but it becomes clear to me much sooner than before – which has been evident in the conversations I’ve been having with people. We, me especially, spend so much time attempting to understand the choices of others. How could he hurt me? Why is she being so mean to me? Why is he doing this to me? How can she treat me this way? Why is he being so petty #SeemsLikeYaPetty? What is wrong with her? We have questions that need answers, right? Or, at least we think we need the answers. I told you about the Untelling. That’s hard for sure. But these are questions that have nothing, absolutely nothing to do with you. Mostly because you have a choice. You can decide to give this life, or nah. You can choose to understand who you are and how you made decisions to end up in the places you’ve been, or nah. You can choose to understand your choices better and make them with authority the next time. Why do you care to know the answers to these questions if it’s over? Once I realized that was the most important question I never asked myself…then figured out my answer…my choices became easier to make. And a little easier to understand.

I do things for me, just because. I know, that sounds crazy, right? Don’t most people do things for themselves? Yea, I’m not most people, and the answer is no, I really didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I will go get myself shoes just because the sky is where it always is, but that isn’t something that I was doing for me, for my internal happiness. But something for me, just because I’m me? Gurl, nah. Nope. I have such incredible guilt for doing something for myself. It feels selfish…and Lord knows the baggage I carry around because of that word. Oddly enough, the running is what helped me get to this place. Singing up for a running event is a terribly individual thing. You choose it. You input all your information. You show up. You do it. You get your medal. That’s it. Nobody else gets any of the glory. No one else’s medical information goes on the back of the race bib. And the number on the front? All you. So, without knowing most times, if any of my friends will be there, I sign up for a race. Most times, a friend or two will be there, but sometimes it’s just me. And that’s awesome too. I’m worth it.

Good grief I’ve transformed. And God willing, I’m never going back. Everything about this new me is strange, but strange isn’t bad. It’s hard, challenging, different, and a little weird – but it feels so good. It’s even heavy sometimes.

...but that is weight worth carrying.

When you sacrifice a shower #ToBeGreat

Dr Splits on Trees did a relay race. No not a basic race like the one she did in Las Vegas in 2013 – you know that “half of the half” of greatness turned 10K so it can kind of sound great now race (but we all know the truth). No, not that. She did a badass relay with 11 of her closest (read: I’m not sure how well she knew them folks, so I just picked a word that sounded nice) friends and relayed 200 miles. This kind of makes her almost as awesome as me and Alicia. But, she did do the “half of the half” in Las Vegas so, Alicia Keykey and I refuse to let her greatness be fully realized. But she hella close.

All on the brink of greatness and whatnot.

Well now, imitation being a form of flattery, I have signed up to do the same thing. This October I’ll be running Ragnar Napa Valley with 11 of my closest (read: I only know one person on this relay and I don’t even think we got assigned to the same van, but I guess I have enough time to get close to the 10 other people) sister friends.

Yup. 205 miles. Napa to Calistoga. Just call me Runner #8 (legs 8, 20, and 32) because I’m about that life. And by “bout that life” I mean, I have once again given someone a large(ish) sum of my hard earned money to do something terribly awful to myself for a medal. Because race medals are greatness. And I wanna be great. I’ve been (not) training my whole life for this! #MamaWilliMakeIt?

Bruh. You should see the way they describe these legs. Easy – Moderate – Hard – Very Hard. Da fawwwk o_0? Wheettt? What kind of descriptions are those? What does that mean? So I did what any person who signs up for something first, then goes back to read the instructions does…I started reading the website. Bro, they have their own bible. Their Own Bible, bro. I signed up for another religion unwittingly. I’ve actually used the phrase running gospel...I think the actual quote was preaching this running gospel… I’m a prophet, son. And, soon, I’ll be eulogizing my legs because…hello, the elevation chart on Leg 20 of this race? Did you see all of those directions? I get lost. I actually got lost, on a race, that was basically the equivalent of an out and back with a slight…SLIGHT…detour through a park. Who does this??

Running ‘baby jesus’…I have more questions.

So, 10 of my close-to-be+1-I-know-already friends and I are going to run 205 miles, relay style. Nonstop from Friday to Saturday. Legit like 24 hours a day into and out of the wee hours of the morning.

Awesome, right? Right.

A van with the runners will drive to the exchange point, drop off the next runner, pick up the person who just finished running and do it all over again.

Still awesome, right? Right.

And because we’ll be running nonstop. We’ll get sleep in the van, because right? Gotta keep running. Right? Yes, you actually have to keep running. Someone is waiting on you.

I promised myself I’d never go camping again (I’ll tell you that story one day), only to sign up for a race in which I’ll basically be camping.

I can be so basic sometimes.

I would say it’s part of the charm but what is charming about running, not showering, running again, THEN NOT showering again…and…repeating that with 5 of your won’t-be-close-much-longer friends?

Everything. Because, medals. Greatness. Glory. All of that.

Things I know for certain about myself…

1.    I don’t read things all the way;

2.    I love an adventure;

3.    I literally pay for people to allow me to torture myself;

AND

4.    I’ve signed up to run a race the Sunday following this.

Yep. You guessed it. Three full days of running with likely only A SINGLE (just 1 Lord) shower before the Friday race begins, and *hopefully* before the Sunday race.

You can’t get out of this Sunday race. It’s not just any race, but THE RACE. The race where you’re going to repeat the iRunTheBay Challenge – which doesn’t have to be a thing but totally is a thing. But what makes it a thing you ask? It’s where Running Hubby is going to complete his first #iRunTheBayChallenge. And, that is a thing. You have witnessed everyone’s #iRunTheBay run to greatness. Angelica Rollerskates is getting her medal too! I just gotta see that! This is one you cannot miss. Because, running, marriage, and choices yo, running, marriage, and choices. Yup. Choices.

You had better hug me after all of this. And rub my feet and legs. And feed me all of the foods. All of them. Greatness smells awesome. #LiesItellMyself #ToKeepFromCrying

Ragnar Napa Valley! It Begins >>