This pic is of last year’s Blue Ridge Double Marathon.
See those shoes?
Those shoes were only about two months old there.
They’re over a year old now.
They’ve seen a lot of miles. The Blue Ridge Double, Conquer the Cove 25k, Night Train 50k, 6,000 feet up Mt. Mitchel. Alllll of the ridiculously fun road runs throughout the year.
Those shoes have heard some stories. They’ve seen things. They know things. About me. And some other people. But mostly me. I get wayyyy too open on runs. I think it’s because my brain isn’t powerful enough to motivate two different things at once. So, if it’s busy motivating me to keep running, then it can’t spare any brain resources to motivate me to stop over sharing.
But what happens on the run stays on the run. (Right? Y’all ain’t sharing what I’m sharing on runs, right … meh. Whatevs.)
And what happened at the Martinsville Half gave me a glimpse into just a hint of the pain I would be in if I ran the full Blue Ridge Marathon in them.
So this year I’ll be partying with the 10k folks. With my other injured and undertrained and simply smart running friends.
We gonna sing and rap and dance and reminisce about old adventures and plan new ones. (And I won’t remember any of the new plans because of who I am as a person, so someone’s gonna have to create some Facebook events for those.)
And as I’m making a right onto Mill Mountain while my full and double marathoners continue on over to Roanoke Mountain, I’m gonna heckle the hell out of them. And then saunter on over to spend some time with the Old Road Mimosas.
And as I’m making another right back onto Jefferson while my half marathoners continue on over to damn Peakwood, imma gloat so hard. And then I’m gonna saunter across the finish line to the VIP area and enjoy some post-race refreshments and entertainment while everyone else is still taking on mountains.
And maybe I’ll enjoy enough post-race refreshments to cheer them all back across the finish line.
Or maybe I’ll just nap.
And also, apparently me making a smart choice and listening to my body “doesn’t sound like” me. So my messenger is filling up with concerned outreaches. Like y’all planning to have me committed or something. It’s a little offensive. I’m smart. I make smart choices.
Like, once a year or so.
This is my smart choice for 2019.
I’ll return to doing ridiculously stupid shit after Blue Ridge.