This Is Not My Birth Month Run

“Are your pants wet?”

Yes, TB. Yes they are wet. That’s sweat. That’s what normal humans do when they’re forced to run in a sauna.

Because I don’t know if y’all have been outside today. But the humidity level is hovering somewhere close to 100%.

That’s basically swimming.

There is no oxygen in 100% humid air.

There’s only moisture. And a lot of sweat.

Which would account for the chafing that has taken hold on every single part of my body. I can’t hold my arms down at my sides. Or let my thighs touch. Or lean back against anything. Or fucking sit down.

My ass. There is chafing on the undersides of my ass cheeks.


I was supposed to be running Jarman’s today.

Holy hell.

I’m trying to even process what that would feel like right now.

That shit started at 12:01pm.

We started our run at 4am.

Because someone thought we could beat the heat, or whatever.

You can’t beat 90% humidity. You can’t escape it. You just have to swim through it or exist exclusively indoors.

The plan was to run Roanoke and Mill Mountains.

And I honesty wasn’t really feeling it this morning.

I did 7.2 miles last night. To get my 200 km challenge completed. For July.

And that sucked.

But look

So…yay, I guess.

Anyway, I managed the 2:30am wake up call.

I managed to properly dress myself. And gather all items necessary for running 15 miles.

I managed to show up at the place at 3:55am.

But then we started running.

And holy hell. I wasn’t gonna manage this.

First, my legs wouldn’t work.

Like, they wouldn’t just alternate strides. And run.

So I had to make them.

And I don’t know if you’ve ever met my legs. Or any part of me. But my body parts tend to be a tad contrary. They resist every direction they are given.

Then the pain kicked in.

And it’s moving. It won’t just stay in one spot. So that it’s now shooting up the inside of my arch towards my leg. In addition to the pain that has just settled into the outside of my ankle. Over the past year.

So that’s fun.

And then the hunger.

Because what had happened was, I ate dinner before running 7.2 miles last night.

And then didn’t eat again before bed.

Or when I woke up for my run.

So, I maybe didn’t have a whole lot fueling this run.

Which made the lecturing start.

And I’m used to getting lectures from mama K-Rob. But when Tiny Brazilian and Finn’s Dad start lecturing you? You know you fucked up.

It didn’t help that Finn’s Dad had punched me only half a mile earlier.

And it hurt, too.

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

So, I was a little skittish at that point and didn’t want to anger him. Lest, as he put it, I wanted to “get this again.” (His fist. He was shaking his fist at me. I couldn’t see it. Because it was dark. But I knew that’s what he was doing. By the threatening sound of his voice. He was putting a lot of bass in there.)

So I squeezed an applesauce pouch into my mouth. And waited for that to kick in.

In the meantime, the only thing keeping me going was watching K-Rob’s arms power her up Fishburn Parkway.

Until TB and Finn’s Dad started giggling about it.

Because the only reason we could see K-Rob’s arms in the dark was the reflection of her chest lamp. Giving her a very Olympic speed walker kind of vibe.

Which is why Finn’s Dad was throwing his arms around so forcefully. To make fun of her. Which is how he ended up punching me.

So, with all of the bullying and hungering and pain shooting going on. I was definitely not feeling Roanoke Mountain.

I needed a way out.

And my hydration pack. Apparently being my only friend this morning. Volunteered as tribute. Because when I took a drink. The nozzle squishy thingy came off. Causing me to spring a leak. So, as the water was pouring out of my pack, I said I couldn’t find the squishy thingy. In the dark.

And I was about to turn back. When.

“Here it is!”

Dammit, TB.

I was clearly not getting out of this.

But maybe my negativity managed to infest the others enough that someone finally said, Fuck Roanoke Mountain.

So, we decided we’d run to the T. And then back over to Mill.

But we weren’t touching Roanoke Mountain.


And I was starting to feel some hope. When TB says, “It’s your birthday month!”

No. Nope. Absolutely not. I am not claiming the month of August this year. No way. 2020 can have this bitch. I do not want my birth to be associated with whatever Jumanji level bullshit 2020 has planned for this month. August is not mine. Fall Risk can have that shit.

Which is about the time that Finn’s Dad decides that this was my birthday run…

Apparently I make a big deal out of this? Every year? That we host birthday runs for literally every single one of our friends? But not me?


I hadn’t noticed.

But no. I refuse.

We can finish up this awful 11 1/2 miles. And take our asses back home. To the safety of our air conditioned homes. And ignore our newsfeeds for the day.

I refuse to claim this. Or any run this month. As my birthday run.

Fuck August 2020.

My birth is cancelled this year.

We’ll wait until 2021.

Y’all got a year to plan.

That shit better be epic.

And way less humid.

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