#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.

Runners That Make Me Sick...

I wonder what flavor Activia she likes...

…and by “make me sick” I mean runners who are so freaking awesome, that my insane amount of envy won’t allow me to feel anything but sick. #IThinkYoureAllAwesomeMostOfTheTime …but every now and again, I want to puke when I see you. Like I did at Coyote Hills. Had absolutely nothing to do with seeing you. Just everything to do with being sick and running a 10K. But that’s another post.

Stroll… Stroll On…

Really?! Do you know how hard it was to start running? H.A.R.D! Let’s not even talk about the soreness. You can get sore from working out. A regular old workout will have you feeling it the next day, just like a good long run. But the breathing?! The first time I ran, I finally knew what Toni Braxton was talking about. Each gasp felt like my last one. Eventually I figured out the breathing thing, found my forever pace #BobJust and could successfully carry this ole’bag of bones from start to finish. But every now and then, I see you. You over-fckin-achiever. Not only do you want to throw it in my face that my reproductive organs have yet to produce a thing other than cramps and sadness, you want to put said “thing” in a stroller and run, on these same streets, this same trail that has me throwing up my life. And then you do it. You glance my way. And smile, and cheer me on.

You Jerk! If you have the amazing lung capacity to push that thing you created in something that Tyco created, don’t acknowledge my presence. Man, you stroller runners are awesome. If you’ve got a double stroller, I hope you…man, I can’t even finish that hateful thought!

Running Whist Pregnant: All you Charlotte York Goldenblatt’s get an honorable mention, but by virtue of my vagina, I am not at liberty to tell you how I really feel about you. By virtue of my similar (unused) reproductive organs and the fact that you’re no longer here. You’ve already crossed the finish line. #CongratulationsKinda

Grandma Didn’t Get Hit By That Reindeer After All…

That’s because she’s so gosh darn fast! Geeez woman! Watching those curly grey tresses float in the air is remarkable. And by remarkable, I mean depressing. Literally depressing. We all looked forward to that time when we wouldn’t have to go outside to pick out the worst switch in the world because you sat on the couch after playing outside…the nice couch. The one without the plastic covering. The one reserved for guests on Sunday. Welp. Those days are not coming. I think older persons still in that kind of shape are awesome! I’d love to be able to do one of these events with my parents, or grandparents for that matter. But, the reality is, I also wanted to be able to RUN AWAY from them when I dropped her good plate on the floor and broke it. I actually looked forward to adulthood for that. But I can’t. She beat me to the water station at Mile 2. Wished me luck. And took off.

Were Kids On The Invite?

I’m not sure there was a kid’s race option here? Oh, there wasn’t? Oh, you brought kids anyway? Oh, they’re running the same course as the adults? Oh…there goes one of those cute little whippernsappers running by effortlessly. Isn’t. That. Just. Great. Ugh! And that hurts to say, because I LOVE getting my friend’s kids high on sugary sweets, cartoons, toys and video games…then…bring them right back to their parents. Nothing more defeating than seeing a person who probably still sits in one of those I’m-almost-adult-high car seats laughing hysterically about Toon Disney playing from the portable DVD player they’re running with, uphill, in the freezing cold, with shorts and a tee shirt. I hate your parents. #payback  #WellPlayedFriends  #IWontGiveYourKidsSoMuchSugarNextTime

Is this a Half Marathon or a Dog Park?

So my uncle has a puppy. A puppy named Jacob. He’s like 10 months old. One day, I said to my uncle, “I’m going to take Jacob for a walk.” Then Jacob started to reach up for my uncle, you know, rose up on his hind legs. That was when I realized that Jacob wasn’t a dog at all. He was a horse. How is it possible that Jacob and I see eye to eye? Then he barked. Needless to say, I walked alone.

If I can walk alone, can’t you do me solid and uh, I don’t know, find a damn dog sitter? You dog runners are the worst. Mostly because I thought it would be super cute for me to go running down the street with my uncle’s dog horse getting my cardio on? But the reality is, nobody runs with horses, they ride them…and unless Jacob’s getting a medal, he’s going to be at the crib, chillin. Since I can’t do it, you shouldn’t either. #ImNotBitter #OkayALittleBitter Yo, my Uncle’s rottweiler scares the crap out of me. Like seriously. You want to see me cower in fear? Tell me I have to feed him. I will cry real tears. The same tears I started to cry the last time my Uncle told me to feed his horse. 

***YO!!!! I went running during lunch at work this week, right? This chick with her dog leash strapped about her wee'little waist scared the CRAP out of me! Needless to say, my run was interrupted and I was late to my 1:30pm meeting. UGH! Knock it off!!!!!!

Once I perfect this running thing, maybe I’ll take a chance and be one of you. Well, all except the kid, can’t go back. And maybe not so much Granny – I’m soooo not in a hurry to go forward. Babies? I mean, if it happens…not exactly praying for or against it. Totally neutral, but I love Charlotte. And dogs are cool, in cages or with their owners. And I technically don’t own one.

Um, where was I going with this?