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Frozen Toe 9/10k

First race of 2019.

I wasn’t ready.

So, I’ve already relayed what I’m about to share with you to the head Mountain Junkies. I mean, not ALL of what I’m about to share. Because most of it doesn’t effect them. But I’ve shared what they need to know.

You’ll see.

You all know (if you are loyal readers…which you should be…I’m delightful) that I’ve had a rough coffee week. And I’ve done some questionable things. Not, like morally questionable. … I don’t think. Wait. No. No, definitely no morally questionable things. But still. Questionable.

Let me preface this by saying that Running Partner was supposed to pick up our race packets yesterday. Because he’s the organized one. And the smart one. And the responsible one. And the nice one. Wow. So, I guess I’m just the, what, high maintenance one?

Anyway, so I had a cup and a half of coffee and drove an hour over to Hollins University for the Mountain Junkies Frozen Toe 10k Turned 9k thanks to the stupid government shut down first race of 2019 trail run.

I was only half-heartbroken about the change of venue. I hate Chestnut Ridge. Almost as much as Chestnut Ridge hates me. But, I know what to expect from Chestnut Ridge. I know where that bitch is gonna throw me down. And she knows all of the mean things I’m going to say about her behind her back. We have an understanding.

But everyone said such lovely things about the view on this new Hollins course, so I was down for a new adventure. New trails to hurt myself on. And it was shorter than the original 10k, so that shortened the amount of time I was risking myself. Not a bad thing, really.

And Josh and Gina worked their asses off trying to find a new race venue last minute, and I think possibly at a financial loss because government, so I was extra grateful for that. Although, really, they just had this ridiculous amazing vacation running the land down under and honestly I think this was just God’s way of evening things out.

But they are the most amazing humans ever and they put on the most phenomenal races ever and I’m not just saying all of this to try to get back into their good graces because of what I’m about to share with you. They really are the best.

So, there I am half-caffeinated and distracted by the anticipation of new trail injuries and I went in to packet pick up. And since Running Partner hadn’t even left the house yet (and he’s the responsible one?), I thought I’d be nice and pick his packet up for him, too.

Y’all know where this is going.

What we should focus on here is that I made it through that race without falling. Even once. Not once did I fall. The Butlers threw the race water and scratch all over the back of their truck, but I didn’t fall on the new rocky/rooty trail. (In their defense, they did create a new special flavor scratch and totally refilled the water and no one was dehydrated on the trail. That I know of. Because they are the awesomest volunteer couple. Even though they didn’t have any cowbell for me. Whatevs.)

But in not falling, even once, I moved through pretty slowly. Not, like, super slow. Just at a reasonable, non-competitive pace. No risk of making it onto the podium.

And because I had to go chase clients around Roanoke before the snow hit, I left as soon as I was done.

(On a side note, the weekend update case notes for one of my clients started with the phrase: BE CAREFUL! And ended with: If you see a group of young men in red hanging around, DON’T STOP. Right. But it’s cool for me to roll up into homeboy’s crib if the lookouts aren’t around? Excellent.)

I was too distracted to look at race results, and really didn’t have any reason to.

But Running Partner, being the conscientious one, noticed that the results had me finishing before him.

Which I definitely didn’t.


He was confused by that.

I wasn’t.

Because I’ve met me.

I suggested he check his bib.


Look. It’s been a bad brain function week for me, y’all. And I wasn’t fully caffeinated. And the puppy ate my glasses. And really, no one’s podium stand was impacted. Certainly not the men’s 35-39 group.

But I think it’s important to note that yes, Kindal. Your flawless record of finishing before me stands. (I don’t know that Kindal will ever read this. So, don’t tell her. That will be her punishment for not reading my blog. If she wants to know, she should follow me. Loyally. Like GJB does.)

We’re all clear now, though, right? I’m not allowed to pick up other people’s race packets anymore?

(Hell, I still have Megan’s Salem Half packet in my car…which is really on her. She’s the one that broke her ankle.)

In fact, I think I probably shouldn’t even be allowed to pick up my own. Running Partner is in charge of getting my wazUPwidis packet.

And really, this is Running Partner’s fault. It’s not like he hasn’t met me. He didn’t even check to see if I’d handed him the right bib. He, like, trusted me to do that right. Seriously.

And while we’re at it, let’s go ahead and blame that Stone chick, too. Because she was distracting me during the bib distribution process. These people know I can’t multi-task things like this. Not accurately.

And also? Fifer. What were you thinking letting me pick up his bib? I KNOW you know me well enough to know how that was going to end.

Whatever. If y’all need me, it’s snowing and I’m binge-watching this stupid Tidying Up series on Netflix. So, obviously all of my clothes are lying on the floor of my living room waiting for me to figure out which ones bring me joy.


Just reading and writing and running and looking for my happy place.

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