National Endurance Day

So, everything hurts.

Like, everything.

Things hurt that I don’t even understand why they hurt.

It all hurts.

Where in hell did I find these people?

Y’all. When Beautiful Beastie creates a Facebook event. And calls it Endurance Day. Like that’s an actual fucking holiday or something. Maybe keep scrolling.

Because this chick.

The other day, Runabout Ali said she was envious of BB’s calves.

You wanna know how she got those?

Ok, so yesterday, this chick drug (dragged?) our little Tiny Brazilian over to POO to start the day.

And I think maybe she believed more of us would follow. Because generally we can be talked into shit like that pretty easily.

But OT had houses to sell. And GJB had parades to lead. And Rogue managed to have a child a few months ago.

And dear lord I just needed some introvert time.

And my probationers…

Off the damn hook this weekend.

So, cool.

TB kept BB entertained while the rest of us lived our lives.

We didn’t have to jump in until 1pm cycle class.

Of course, BB couldn’t just sit around between POO and cycle waiting for us.

So this chick got in 40 laps in the pool.


Now, there are this many bikes in Cycle class.

Like, 20 or something.

And we filled every one of them.

And because BB is who she is, and knew what she was about to do to us, she installed an aid station.

Which, maybe I visited several times during class. Stop judging me, people. That’s what this is here for!

Female half of CorkWalker showed up and asked, How long is this class? 50 minutes?


An hour?



Yeah. An hour. And twenty minutes. Of cycling.


Now, I’ve already explained the impact last week’s class had on me. An hour on a bike ain’t no joke. And I’m out of practice riding things. So…

Did you get the fat one?

Excuse me?

Tiny Brazilian pointing to my butt area.

You got the fat one.

I’m sorry. Are you pointing at my-?

The bike. You got the fat seat.

You mean did I get the bike with the big cushioned seat? Yes.

Still pointing at my butt and singing, you got the fat one. You got the fat one.

Keep saying it.

She’s cute. But I’ll throat punch her.

At one point, BB was worried we’d run out of bikes.

I volunteer as tribute.

No, really. I’ll go chill in the hot tub for two hours while y’all do this.

She denied my volunteer offer.

Turns out we had just enough bikes anyway.

And there was so much sweat and heavy breathing happening in that room that we fogged up the windows.

About halfway through, we look over and Dude With the Charming and Disarming Smile had written a message on the window beside him.

And then we look over at TB. Who was wearing long fucking sleeves. And not a drop of sweat on her. She’s a freak of fucking nature.

I’ll fix that.

Just rubbed myself all over her. Just all of my sweat all over her long sleeved shirt.

She’s sweaty now.

Go ahead and say I’ve got the fat one again…

And so, after an hour and twenty minutes of that madness, BB moves us to another room for core work.

A few minutes in, I started hearing a noise behind me. And I looked back at Dude With the Charming and Disarming Smile.

Dude. Are you whimpering?

Yeah. Yeah, he was definitely whimpering.

And he’s gonna say I threw my water at him. And he panicked. And totally overreacted. But those several minutes we spent cleaning it up were just that many more minutes we weren’t spending hovering and shit.

You’re welcome.

Hot tub time. And GJB limited us to 10 minutes. Because the hot tub is where Christmas fell apart last week.

And that was probably fine. Because food.

Then we rolled over to the mountain.

Where Rogue and K-Rob decided they had better things to do than Christmas.

What could possibly be more important than Christmas with the family??


Now. It’s been many months since we’ve taken the old way up the mountain. The really shitty way. The mile straight the fuck up through ankle deep leaves and zero trail way.

We’re gonna call this way S Gap. That’s not the full name. But you only get to know the full name if you go to Christmas. Or if you can just figure it out on your own.

It was freezing when we started out. And maybe I wasn’t fully prepared for that. It takes me a few weeks to adjust to new seasons.

No idea where my gloves are.

But it doesn’t matter until you get to the top. Because so much sweat going up.

And it’s possible that my legs weren’t entirely functional after an hour and twenty fucking minutes of death click class.

And that is the only explanation I have for why I just fell the fuck over onto the big rocks near the top.

Just fell.


Onto my left hip.

It’s fine. I just got rid of the last of my Spartan ass scabs. Some bruising seems like a solid follow up.

But at the top. So fucking cold.

GJB, in a rare show of chivalry, handed me his jacket. That he’d worn. And sweated in. On the way up. Y’all know how much this man sweats, right?

And then he pulled a dry jacket out of his pack and put that on.

Hey, thanks.

I’ll just drape this sweat-covered blanket around me…

(I do appreciate it, though. Because I think it was sincere. He’s not often sincere. And I don’t want him to get in his feelings. So lemme show appreciation. I don’t often show appreciation.)

We didn’t hang out too long at the top.

I stood shivering for about ten minutes while OT figured out how to work his phone and take this pic.

I didn’t even touch my beer. Because I couldn’t. Because my hands weren’t actually functional at that point.

But even the appropriately dressed ones were cold. So we headed back down.

And. Ok. So Dude With the Charming and Disarming Smile hadn’t experienced the mountain before. So he didn’t understand. The descent. It’s treacherous.

So he spent the first fifteen minutes or so giggling. As I maneuvered through leaves and rocks and branches and downed trees. I had to belly roll a few times. It’s possible I slid down backwards once or twice. I was definitely leading him through the worst possible route.

But I didn’t have a working chest lamp.

I was doing my best.

Whatever. Go follow GJB then.

And so he did.

And immediately fell.

And I giggled.

And BB finally insisted that I go in front of her. Presumably so I could use her light source. But I think maybe she just wanted to watch my useless post-cycle legs slip and slide the whole way down the mountain.

A master admiring her work.

And on the way down, OT observed, as we do often do, that how fucking ridiculous are we to spend our Sunday night doing shit like this. And that we’re not normal. And that the level of awesome sliding down that mountain was off the fucking charts.

And maybe this was exactly what I needed to remind me that I can make it through the rest of the school year without my Tina Fey. Probably. Maybe.

Because I can do hard things.

(That’s what she said.)

Now. If you’ll excuse me. I have to go to work and not spend the day crying. Like a grown ass adult woman.