Chasing Crabby Cathy

I had a long run today that needed to be 18 miles or so.  My good friend Cathy (nicknamed “Crabby Old Jaws”) announced she would go with me. Crabby isn’t planning on doing a marathon anytime soon but she is a beast and said, “Eh, 14, 16, 18…I’m out there anyway.”


The signs that today was not a stellar day for me manifested within the first, oh, 3–4 miles or so.

First, I thought I had lost my car key. It was pitch dark and all I could think was, “I’m never going to find it.” We started to double back but then I realized I’d put it in the zipper pocket on my bottle. Doh!

Second, I had a wardrobe malfunction; I was wearing a waist pack for my money, map, ShotBlocks, electrolyte tablets, etc., and the end pulled out of the fastener when I pulled on it. Okay, stopped and got it fixed, though the end continued to be a nuisance the whole run by unraveling.

Third, the worst. Shortly thereafter, I HAD to go to the bathroom. Pretty immediately and not where I could just discretely find a bush in the darkness. Crabby pointed out a Port-a-Potty on Hancock that was miraculously clean and full of toilet paper. Ahhh. (It’s what I get for finding this story totally hilarious:  “Everyone Poops” by Dave Milner )

After that, my gut was never quite right. I felt like I was working awfully hard to be doing what I was doing and to be where I was. We wound up stopping several more times. And, at the end, I just ran out of gas.

Not the best run of my life, not the worst. At least it was fun with a friend.  Thanks, Crabby Cathy!


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