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Lazy Muscles Massage

Got my pre-race massage last night. For the race I may or may not be able to run.

Left the office 30 minutes early in order to make the 15-minute drive, as per my usual.

And all y’all that ridicule me for this habit. (Fall Risk and Rogue.) This story validates the entirety of the childhood that made me this way.

Because also who I am as a person is someone who cannot navigate from one end of Roanoke to the other. Or even one end of the street to the other. Without mapping assistance.

(I am not exaggerating. Ask Skratch. He knows.)

And for whatever reason, my phone was done with working at that point. Whatever magic happens that inside of it to create the navigation had apparently gone offline. After I’d starting my drive. But without actually telling me, “Hey, I’ma take my break now. You should probably find someone to cover if you need help.”

She got me out of the parking garage. (Yes, I do need someone to tell me which way to turn out of the parking garage.) And onto the highway. And then she just…froze.

Except I didn’t realize she froze. At first.

Until it occurred to me that I was on 220. Headed for Boones Mill. And she was still telling me to turn onto 220…in 2.1 miles.

And I don’t know a lot. But I know that I shouldn’t be in Boones Mill to get to Roanoke.

The panic, y’all.

Every functioning neuron I had inside myself shut down. It took a full 30 seconds for it to reboot.

I’m not sure how much further down 220 I drove during that time. It’s all a panic-induced blur.

But once it got itself back online, I managed to turn off onto a side street and regroup. Which is when it occurred to me that I wasn’t even sure why I was on 220. The highway leading out of Roanoke. To get to a destination in Roanoke.

So, my brain had to actually process maps and shit. Virtually. Inside of itself. Which should really concern all of us.

But by some miracle, it remembered or figured out or Skratch’s brain had somehow imprinted its knowledge onto it during one of the many “discussions” he and Goatfinder and I have had on whether or not places are connected. (They’re usually not.) Anyway, one of those magical things happened. Allowing my brain to establish that Hunting Hills is the side street I’d turned onto in my panic. And I know that Hunting Hills is part of Cave Spring because of a kid I taught lots of years ago that lived there. And I somehow know that Cave Spring is in the same general area of Roanoke where my Massage Magician is. I think.

So, I made it to my appointment. One minute before my appointment time. (Which means I was 29 minutes late.)

And when Massage Magician asked how I was doing. I almost. ALMOST. Told him. About my travel trauma. But my brain was apparently already primed to jump in on issues at that point. And it funneled its inner Rogue and said, “Don’t start talking, Sunshine.” So, I just said, “Busy. But good.”

Anyway, all of this trauma. Not drama. But actual trauma. Led my muscles to just…also go offline? I guess?

Apparently random muscles will just decide not to work. Not to do their one job. Whenever they damn well feel like. For no clear reason at all.

My left deltoid. Or whatever. Just lying there. All lazy as hell. Not doing a damn thing. Took Massage Magician 30 entire minutes to wake her lazy ass up.

Both of my glutes. Just exhausted from carrying the entirety of my backside around. Just lying there wallowing in Netflix and tacos. Or whatever. Took a massage gun to force them back into the game.

And the debilitating pain shooting down my left hip flexor during Saturday’s 15-mile run? That one required Massage Magician to actually move my intestines out of the way. So that he could reach that lazy little asshole.

Actually, I think he mentioned something about a knot rather than a lazy ass muscle. But still.

I mean, Massage Magician got everything back online again. But I know those lazy little fuckers are just gonna shut right back down. At the first hint of a mountain. Or a dumbbell.

And it took me another 30 minutes to find my way back across Roanoke. To my home.

And I just…I don’t…I would just really like for all of my things to function in the way they were designed.


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


  1. Rebekah says:

    So which race may you be running?

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