Category Archives: Carpe Diem and YOLO and stuff like that

for the pain and the pleasure

This guy I knew once, way back when, offered to pay for my first tattoo. Every once in awhile, I debate texting him, seeing if his number is still the same, and asking if he’ll still pay for that tattoo.

He had lots of tattoos. I somehow have a photo of one.

He had lots of tattoos. I somehow have a photo of one, because I have photos of everything.

I’m not exactly subtle about how terrible I am with pain. Once, I put my hand through a window and had to get five stitches. The nurse laughed at me because he had to use three times the normal amount of anesthetic to stop the pain. And I totally lied to him when he asked if I could still feel it. I still felt the needle and that shit hurt.

I had another offer today for a free tattoo. For some reason, when I say that I really don’t think I can do it, this says to people that they should try harder to convince me. They want to be my tattoo spirit guide, and tell me the places it will hurt the most and at what point the vibrating needle becomes more of a nuisance than a pain.

People just seem to want to know if it’ll make me cry.

Him: You don’t want a tattoo?

Me: No. It’s not that at all. I know what I would get if I were to get a tattoo. I just can’t get one.

Something like this.

Something like this.

Him: WHY NOT?

Me: L.A. DOES NOT DO PAIN.

Him: But that’s the thing. Everything is going to hurt you.

Me: This isn’t helping your argument, Bob Marley.

Him: Tattoos are different. They mean something to you. 

Me: Not having needles poke me lots of times means something to me.

Him: But you choose this pain.

Me: BUT WHY ON EARTH WOULD I CHOOSE THE PAIN?!

And then we drew ourselves tattoos because I'm basically a 7th grade girl still.

And then we drew ourselves tattoos because I’m basically a 7th grade girl still.

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Signed, sealed, delivered, WHAT THE BLEEP IS IN MY MAILBOX.

I got a letter from my lovely Lina the other day. It was a bittersweet moment, because on one hand, I was all…

I’VE GOT MAIL, BITCHES.

…and on the other hand, I was like…

How long has it been since I’ve sent mail, because so much stationary and so much envelopes and mother-fecking Harry Potter Stamps?!

Which loosely translates to me realizing that I’ve got all this stationary and all these stamps that I have neglected to use.

I have these stamps, guys. And I cannot figure out why I have not sent any of you magical, magical Harry Potter Owl Mail. Image from Yahoo! News.

Of course, this lead me to sorting out all my stationary, and finding my fountain pen, and searching all over etsy for a new-old-working typewriter that I can put on my childhood desk that my father and I are attempting to refinish for me. A girl needs a place to pen her life. Somehow in the course of all this, I found myself on a website that I come across every few years.

I’ve debated joining the Letter Writers Alliance for awhile now, but always told myself not to until I have more time to write. It occurred to me then, that I am never going to have more time to write. If I want to write letters, I need to find time and write letters. So, this is me, dedicating via blog, that I’m going to do just that. New Year’s Resolution style, I’m going on a #LettersFromLA kick, because it’s something I love to do.

And on that note, here are the top five things I would really appreciate finding in my mailbox:

5. Maybe not this exact barrel but…

this is from the 1920’s and was used to ship silver and china. Photo from http://plentyofcolour.com, click photo for link.

I always wanted to get something from Tiffany’s in the mail because you see that blue and you just know that’s where it’s from. Granted, this barrel wouldn’t fit in my mailbox, but still. Tiny version maybe?

4. Unique stationary of any sort…

The personalized mail from suburbanpenpal.wordpress.com is absolutely awesome. Click photo for link.

Freshly pressed definitely knew where my head was at this morning when they featured SuburbanPenPal.wordpress.com. Her letters are so unique, I did that awkward girl sqeeee just looking at them.

3. Here is a Pinata.

Ole. Courtesy of afewofmyfavorites.com. Click photo for link.

Seriously, it’s a pinata. In the mail. Enough said.

2. The Police put it best.

Yes. That is a message in a bottle. Photo from olderandwisor.com. Click the photo for the link.

Sending out an SOS? YES.

And finally.

1. Put a bird on it. Or put it in a bird. Or something like that.

Courtesy of that site I might finally join, the Letter Writers Alliance. Click the photo for the link.

It’s just like having your very own Carrier Pigeon. But he’s dead. I mean, fake. He’s not alive. And he goes in the mailbox. Someone, mail me a bird.

 

So, I’m pulling out my fountain pen later, kids. It’s letter writing time. I think I might actually keep this Resolution.

 

the sunday currently

Who doesn’t love I found a new blog day?? Every once in awhile, I like finding these kind of …sort of form blog posts… that people do — the thankful post was a good example of that. But it’s a great way to sort out your thoughts and map out your head for a hot second. Courtesy of http://siddathornton.blogspot.com, here is the sunday currently.

R E A D I N G Stieg Larsson’s The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest. I’ve read this trilogy so many times, plus owning the Swedish version of the films, and the US version of the first book. It’s so damn addicting. If you haven’t read it before, I strongly recommend starting now, because I also read this article (OMG, new book alert) about a fourth book being written. And for anyone to has read the books, WHERE IS CAMILLA?!

W R I T I N G Poetry up the wazoo. Back in the day, I’d carry around a journal all the time, so I could just constantly be writing (I now regret the high period where I thought it was fun to write in markers, because damn, is that hard to read nowadays). Short stories, poetry, beginnings to books, actual books, where I sat in 3rd period AP English Senior Year of high school.  It feels good to just being jotting down the snippets that come up in my head every once in awhile.

L I S T E N I N G to The National, non-stop. To quote VS, “Grad school and being sad have really made me appreciate the National.” Or even better,

T H I N K I N G that I really need to finish start my Christmas shopping. It’s CHRISTMAS, THIS WEEK. I had no idea.

S M E L L I N G absolutely nothing, because this weather has me all stuffed up. Seriously. I blow my nose every thirty seconds. Someone should mail me Kleenex for Christmas.

W I S H I N G I had more time for Christmas presents. And that I had more time to do everything I want for Christmas. And really, for more time. I mean, this is wishing, right?

H O P I N G  for an epic Christmas season. It’s so busy between all the Christmas activities and the travelling and then NYE is right after that, and then it’s Winter Classic time, and let’s be honest. I’m really hoping for a W there.

W E A R I N G a lazy Sunday kind of outfit. Old School High School sweatshirt and sweatpants. I’d like to officially add to my Christmas list that I’d like some new Victoria’s Secret Boyfriend sweatpants because this pair has bleach on them, and my other pair has paint on them, and I really ought to take better care of my clothing.

L O V I  N G Lazy Sundays. Seriously, who doesn’t love lounging and relaxing? It’s the day of rest, people. Calm the fuck down, and have some hot cocoa.

W A N T I N G some more cocoa. Maybe a nice Mocha. I wish Starbucks delivered.

N E E D I N G Starbucks to start delivering.

F E E L I N G like Starbucks ought to deliver.

C L I C K I N G the exit button. Since it is a Lazy Sunday, that’s exactly what I’m going to be.

it’s the little things.

You know there’s those people who put I’m a people person on their resume, which really means that they have so little work experience that they need to put that they can hold some semblance of a conversation in order to try and gain employment?

I’m totally a people person.

Granted, it’s not on my resume anymore because retail is luckily and thankfully in my past, not that I didn’t get some great stories from the years and years I put it at Macy’s and Forever 21 and oh good fucking lord i always forget I used to work at Meijer.

Back when I was a Macy's  Girl, in all black. Yes, we shopped on our lunch hour. BONUS POINTS IF YOU CAN GUESS HOW PREGGO I AM HERE.

Back when I was a Macy’s Girl, in all black. Yes, we shopped on our lunch hour. BONUS POINTS IF YOU CAN GUESS HOW PREGGO I AM HERE.

But I’m still a people person.

Last week marked my two year anniversary at my current job. Two years of lots and lots of people person skills.

Today, an older couple came in together, as they always do. We started talking as they were preparing to leave, and it turned out that it’s their anniversary.

Him: 46th Anniversary.

Her: 47th.

Him: You’re wrong.

Her: You don’t remember to take your pills in the morning.

Him: I did this morning.

Her: Because I left them on your table like I always do.

Him: 46th.

Her (conspiratorially to me): It’s our 47th. He was a terrible husband the first year.

Him: I can hear you.

Her: I SAID IT LOUD.

I, of course, congratulated them on their love and marriage. They know I’m single [and once tried to set me up with their grandson. He’s 20.] and told me that if they could make it work, anyone can.

Insert collective aw here.

So, of course, I asked them. What makes them work? How are they still so in love after this many years?

There’s a long silence.

Him: Here is the thing you have to remember. Here is the important part of life that no one realizes anymore.

Me: It’s my smartphone’s fault, isn’t it?

Him: Shut up. And yes.

Long silence again.

Him: It’s not where you are, or what you’re doing, but who you’re with that makes a life.

We all stop a second to take this in.

Her: I really wish you’d fart less.

Him: And I love you.

As always, follow me on twitter for the abbreviated versions of these sagas.

Mawwiage: what bwings us togetha today.

A few years ago, on another blog, Poof and I wrote about how our friends MC Hammer and Judy Jetson would one day find a way to be together and be in love. Apparently, we’re ESP(N), because on Saturday, they did it.

Mr. and Mrs. theArena!

Mr. and Mrs. theArena!

As with all other weddings I’ve ever been to, or been in, or stalked on facebook later, I’ve come out on the other side of things with a few things:

1. The Hangover.

…which is really okay, because it meant in the great battle of Go Big or Go Home, we did good.

You can't even hardly tell because we're classy.

You can’t even hardly tell how ridiculous we were because we’re classy.

2. Another gem to add to my 27 Dresses collection. 

Poof and I in our Wedding Best.

Poof and I in our Wedding Best.

The short bridesmaid dress was the best thing ever invented for weddings. Similar to when I head out for a random night out on the town, I’m all gonna dance all night.

This is a hell of a lot easier when you can wiggle around a little bit.

SoccerGirl and I strike my favorite pose: the Koala. This was made possible by the knee length b-maid dress.

SoccerGirl and I strike my favorite pose: the Koala.
This was made possible by the knee length b-maid dress.

3. Preparation is the key to success.

Poof and I headed out to Target on a mission a few days before the wedding. We’d learned from prior experiences that you should always be prepared, like the boy scouts say, lest you end up in a situation like this one:

November 2k10 — Poof and Captain’s Wedding

We’d forgotten about making mimosas for the morning of, as we got hair and make up and such done. Therefore, I ended up in a sketchy area of town, in a sketchy party store, dressed up in UGG boots and a guava bridesmaid dress with a flower in my hair.

Man at the counter: …are you in the right place?

Me: Do you have champagne and orange juice?

Man at the counter: …yes.

Me: then this is the right place.

Therefore. Outdoor photos in November in a strapless dress?

Be prepared

Five inch heels and dancing all night?

Be Prepared 2

4. Knowledge is Power.

After theAsian’s wedding a few summers ago, I learned that you should always bring flats to dance in, because you do not want to be the barefoot girl that goes home with black bottomed feet. Either you’re drunk in your sink, washing your feet off at 2 am, or you’re waking up the next morning hating yourself because you have to change your sheets with a hangover. You don’t like fitted sheets? Try them with the hangover on. This marriage was no exception to the new knowledge rule.

Bartender: Didn’t you just get a drink?

Me: I finished it.

Bartender: That fast?

Me: Some spilled.

Bartender: How much of it?

Me: It was an exciting song. I need a lid for my next drink.

Bartender: I can get you a sippy cup.

Me: …

Bartender: …

Me: …

Bartender: I’m totally kidding.

Me: …but could you really?

Bartender: Why not?

I switched to beer after that, because I didn’t want to be the girl on the dance floor with the kiddie cup.

BUT.

You know what was in my wedding present from SoccerGirl?

This was drink 3 of the day. Weddings mean day drinking and love.

This was drink 3 of the day, in my big girl sippy cup. Weddings mean day drinking and love.

Lesson taken from this wedding. Grown up sippy cups mean fun for everyone.

5. What you don’t remember, the camera will.

83 photos from Poof. 91 from me. 15 from my actual camera which I forgot to use after I recruited my groomsman to carry it for me at the reception.

Love, Marriage, Glowsticks.

Love, Marriage, Glowsticks.

Photographic Memory, basically.

MAWWIAGE, guys. MAWWIAGE IS WHAT BWINGS US TOGETHA TODAY. Technically, it brought us together Saturday, but y’know.

All the best, friends.

I solemnly swear, etc.

I gave up Red Bull three weeks ago.

This might explain why I haven’t been blogging, because I’ve been all…

…without the deliciousness of taurine and caffeine and whatever other -ines I was regularly putting into my system to allow the amount of foot tapping and body shaking that I normally do.

But without Red Bull, I’m suddenly feeling like I have a clearer head. I sleep better. I’m not jittering all over the place, and I no longer have the desire to try and turn cartwheels down the impossibly long hallway of my office.

Wow, I realize. What a wise decision I made to cut something so terrible out of my life. Out, damned energy drink. Out.

This got me thinking. What other terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things have plagued me in my life that I should probably think about giving the boot?

Here, in no particular order, is my list of guilty pleasures that I’m in the process of kicking.

1. Starbucks.

Fuck, I love my coffee. I love it so hard. And with no Red Bull, Starbucks has been poised to make a killing on my wallet and in my heart. But then some asshole posted that my drink of choice, the grande white chocolate mocha-licious, is about 1290343098573 (add comments accordingly) calories of love handles and empty promises.

Full of delicious empty promises and cash money

Full of delicious empty promises and the college funds of all my future children and my children’s children and my children’s children’s children.

Seriously. Basic math shows that my coffee habit of $4.29 at least twice a week is almost $500 bucks out of my pocket for the year. And I am poor. I am poor and I am paying to get fat. Granted, it’s so much easier to drive to Starbucks than make a cup of coffee in the morning. But I’m trying. Starbucks, you’ve been downgraded to special occasions and pity parties.

2. Shopping on an empty spirit.

Do you read my blog? Then you know. I’ve been a very, very sad person.  I have had some very low moments in my life, and I’ve had a very, very full closet for some of them. Did I ever wear that t-shirt from Forever 21 that had the bicycle on it because it looked like me? How about that sparkly gem headband during that phase of fashion life where everything was bedazzled?

Nope.

Never.

I’ve made some terrible fashion decisions because when I get depressed, I shop. Some part of my brain told me that if I was sad, things would make me happy.

They didn’t. Neither did my empty wallet. But now when I shop, I’m able to look at my armload of stuff and think to myself. Do I need this stuff? Do I want this? Am I feeling sad? And if any of the answers are yes, I set the things down, back slowly away, and call somebody who knows me.

Friends. Good. Impulse shopping. Bad.

3. Overanalyzing.

I don’t know why I do this. I can’t think about it though, because it defeats the purpose of trying to kick the habit.

4. One Tree Hill > 8 hours of sleep.

I’m such a guilty pleasure TV show-er. I loved One Tree Hill, and Gossip Girl, and Gilmore Girls, and Veronica Mars, and OMFG, Did you know there is a Veronica Mars movie coming out!?

This would all be well and good, but Netflix. And TV on DVD. And other ways to spend hours and hours of your life just watching TV. I work a normal job schedule, then spend the rest of my time with my son, which means that the time I have to watch TV falls during post bedtime for offspring time. Which would be well and good except…

L.A.’s thought process for TV watching

Episode 1: I love this show. I’m going to watch  this episode then go to bed because I have to wake up early.

Episode 3: Oh. Em. Effing. Gee. I have to find out what happens.

Episode 9. I can’t NOT finish the season now. I just should finish it. There’s only two episodes left.

Episode 34549837: Fuck. Is that my alarm?!

5. Sticking to things.

I.e. Sorry I haven’t blogged every week like I promised.

 

…I acknowledge that the following things may not be kicking habits, but simply growing up and making mature decisions. THE HELL, guys. THE HELL.

 

20 something is the new Decrepit.

So.

I was filling out some paperwork the other day at work, and it asked me how old I was. I was running on autopilot, and immediately went to check the box that I’m most used to checking, when I realized.

Option 1: 18 and under

Option 2: 19 to 25

Option 3: 26 to 35

Option 4: You are old, Father William.

I am not the first option. I am not even the second option. I am the third option, and I am old. Buzzfeed keeps suggesting all these things on my timeline about “things you shouldn’t ask twenty somethings” and “how you know you’re in your twenties” and other such wonderful things expressing that I’ve aged.

It’s not that I really think that I’m old. It’s more that now that I’m old and falling apart with creaky knees and wrinkles, I’ve realized: my youth is over. 

the creepy true then and now cartoons from collegehumor.com

Example:

I saw my friend BlueSteel last weekend. He’s the same guy I’ve always known, beardy to perfection, with one exception.

The Salt-N-Pepa Show

The Salt-N-Pepa Show (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Blue Steel,” I ask him. “What is this?”

“Don’t remind me.” He shakes his head at me. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“Are we this old?!” I’m in shock.

“I dunno.” He shrugs. “I guess so?”

BlueSteel’s beard had gone from Henrik Zetterberg to George Clooney overnight.

“If it helps,” I tell him. “Whenever I shed. I have to stop and check. Especially if it’s a blond one. And I make sure it’s not grey.”

I lamented the troubles to Poof later, because #darkhairdontcare, except I really really care.

Example Two:

Poof turned the grand old 25 a few weekends ago. Quarter life crisis, yo. We had planned a nice, classy dinner with friends, followed by a drink or two. The day of the party, however, Poof’s husband Captain texted me with an idea.

That thing in the background? That's a limo. It's pink. It's a hummer.

That thing in the background? That’s a limo. It’s pink. It’s a hummer.

All of a sudden, I wasn’t the DD anymore. We had the capabilities of “going out-out.”

Going out: putting on clothes that are not yoga pants, and going somewhere that is not your house. Out to dinner, out to breakfast, out to ice cream. Kids are possibly and most likely involved.

Going out-out: wearing heels. Wearing make up. Doing something to your hair, and staying out past your bedtime. Probably dancing. Probably loud music. Probably shots. Definitely a hang over.

And “out-out” we went. Next thing you know, it’s the next morning. I’m in my bed, in borrowed yoga pants and a t-shirt. GoldDust played responsible party and did not take a shot of Rumpleminze, and was much more bright eyed and bushy tailed. Then there was me.

GoldDust: Breakfast?

Me: Yeah. Let me sit up. [Sits up]. Give me like five minutes now.

GoldDust: No breakfast? What if we just go to the mall?

Me: That sounds good. Let me just brush my teeth. [Heads to bathroom. Lays on floor. GoldDust finds me there.] Give me like five minutes now.

Death becomes me.

Death becomes me.

GoldDust: Do you think you can handle today?

Me: [Sits up on bathroom floor]. Give me like five…[GoldDust gives me look] I can’t do it. I can’t do today.

And I didn’t do the whole day.

Sunday texts with Mohawk.

Sunday texts with Mohawk.

Or the next day.

Monday Recovery Texts with Poof

Monday Recovery Texts with Poof

Two day hangover.

But, the big clue in that I’m out of my adolescence, and into the rest of my life I’m old and will continue to complain about it stage?

I was at work the other day, chilling, and one of my more amusing young patients came in. 16 years old, no filter, spiky hair. Probably a real catch on the high school scene.

Anyway.

That’s right. Vintage.

Would you like me to take your gum?

I have been too sentimental my last few blog posts. Getting back to random and funny parts of life.

My dating life…

Serious relationships are not my style at the moment, but it doesn’t mean I stop myself from enjoying the company of the opposite sex. And dating always has funny moments.

Back story…

El and I met while I was on vacation in Grand Rapids earlier this summer. We met in one of my favorite bars, The Meanwhile. He was hard not to notice. Very tall and handsome with his dark hair and piercing brown eyes.  He kept smiling and winking at me. He did this combo one last time as I walked out of the bar. I was smitten. I got a block away from the bar, and realized I was going to be bold. I told my friend that we were going back. I was going to talk to Tall and Handsome . She rolled her eyes at my grand plan, but agreed he was too hot to ignore. Making my way back into the bar, I sprinted up to him with my hand out to shake his, introducing myself. We chatted for few minutes and exchanged numbers. Feeling accomplished, I left the bar for the second time.

how-awkward-im-when-dating-funny-dating-picture

Ladies, that’s how it is done. You want to know someone and you want their number. Just go for it. 

After flirty texting and two dates, we had realistic expectations about our courtship. I was going back to Detroit and he lived in Grand Rapids. But, it didn’t mean we couldn’t enjoy each other’s company when being in the same city. Physical attraction was too hard to ignore, too.

Two months, and countless text messages later…

El texted me to say he was coming to the D for the night. He and his buddy wanted to hit the casinos and wanted me to join. I was elated… a date with no expectations for a relationship. My style of a prince charming!

We had dinner and hit the casino. It started to get late, but El’s buddy didn’t want to leave the poker tables. So El and I left him behind and headed to hotel. Clearly, we wanted one on one time too.

Driving back to hotel, I pulled out gum. (You want fresh breath if you’re going to kiss your hot, out of town fling.)

Being polite I offered him gum too.  Not really thinking, I just handed him my pack of Trident White Duel Pack. I expected he would just take a piece and hand it back to me.

NOPE! This did not happen.

Instead, he took a piece of gum for his mouth, and then ripped the dual pack apart. He handed me half and placed the other half in the middle cubby of his Audi.

I was dumb founded. Mouth opened, I looked down at my pitiful half pack of gum and then at the other half siting in the middle cubby. El stole my tartar fighting gum. I didn’t know what to say…

33% more for you to share or steal...

33% more for you to share or steal…

We made our way back to his hotel. I didn’t want to ruin the awesome evening by pointing out that he had stole my gum so I brushed it off. We finished out our evening.

The next morning, we said our see-you-soons and he drove back to Grand Rapids.

I can’t shake the thought that El is a gum snatcher. Like at least, he could’ve asked or offered to get me a pack gum when he saw me next. Any type of gesture would have been polite.

Ladies, beware you never know where a gum snatcher could be lurking. Keep your purses closed and keep an emergency gum pack for safe keeping.

Keep it secret, keep it safe.

Cue Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide.

So Labor Day Weekend marks the transition from summer to fall.

This summer has been a magical time for me. I have been so fortunate to be surrounded by so many amazing people. I wouldn’t trade the late nights that turned into early mornings, the laughter or randomness. But I’m ready for the winds of change. The air reeks of it.

The leaves aren’t the only thing changing colors.

It seems like myself and everyone around me is in transition.

I just moved into a new house. I’m also making plans to change a few other things in my life, not just geography.

My dear friend Hot Chocolate is moving to another state for a his job this week. I’m sad to see him leave, but I’m so proud of him and excited to see what this opportunity will bring him.

He has given me so much this summer. More than I could ever repay him, so I will not burden him with sadness of leaving. I rather celebrate the joy of something new and exciting.

Hot Chocolate and I at his going away party.

Hot Chocolate and I at his going away party. Throwing up a deuce to the past.

L.A. is also in her own set of changes. Boo started kindergarten. Someone very dear to her moved away. She has other things that are in transition also.

It’s all chaotic. We don’t know what each day will bring. It all seems to be moving so fast. Not a moment to take a deep breath and enjoy it.

Summing up our thoughts on change. I'm too happy to open my eyes and L.A. is confused. But, we have each other to get through it.

Summing it all up. I’m too happy to open my eyes, and L.A. is confused. But we have each other to get through it.

Even with all the confusion and chaos, I have a sense of calm.

I’m excited about all the change. It’s progression. I love progression.

I don’t know if there is something in the water or if I have reached euphoria, but I don’t fear change anymore. I crave it.

Good things can’t become great things without change.

I’ve been afraid of changing
‘Cause I, I’ve built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I’m getting older too oh yes
I’m getting older too

Run like Forrest Gump

So at the beginning of the summer I started training for The Crim 10 Mile race. Well, this past Saturday was race day. I’m happy to say I completed it!!!

Such an amazing feeling to add this to my list of accomplishments.

295648_518826498160223_1776136604_n

Some funny things happened while I ran my little heart off.

The race started off fine, but I had to pee 3 miles in…

Peeing during a race is the worst thing. You never know where the next restroom is located. Also, you’re not the only person who has to pee.

I was in line for 15 minutes to use the facility. While I was waited I got to see some oddly dressed runners. We had two mermaids which I didn’t know mermaids could run. We had Wonder Woman. Why didn’t she just fly to the finish line? Also, several ballerina with their tutus. I would think the tutu would weigh a runner down.

After catching my breath and relieving myself, I started to peddle away. The miles started to blur together.

My thoughts,

I’m actually doing this. I’m running and I’m getting closer to the finish line.

About the 7 mile marker I noticed something a strange about a runner … she had no shoes on!!! 10 miles no shoes!!! Her feet were black. I don’t know how she did it. I would cry after the first mile.

I finally reached the last mile. Exhausted. Sweating. Sore. We ran passed the last water station. A woman in front me grabbed a drink. When she finished she did not toss the cup to the side like proper cup tossing when running. Instead she whipped it behind her, right into my face. Yes, I got hit in the face with an empty cup. I was more stocked than upset. Who whips a cup during a race?

Finally, we rounded the corner and the finish line was insight. The excitement took over my body and I began to sprint. In a blink of an eye, I crossed the finish line. 10 miles behind me.

I’m still glowing with accomplishment. I had some amazing people waiting at the finish line for me. My brother and my co-workers competed in the race also.

photo-1

photo

When is the next race?