“Are you in Rocky Mount?”
“Come pick me up.”
Ok. Lemme see if I can find your house from here.
-stop and reroute GPS-
“I’m not at home. I’m at Sheetz.”
-stop again and reroute GPS again-
“The one in town. Not 220.”
Fuck’s sake. Ok.
-stop. again. and reroute GPS. again-
Now. If he had just left it as “I’m at Sheetz,” I would’ve been ok. I was instinctively heading back towards the Sheetz I’d just passed.
I didn’t know there were two of them.
Hell, I wasn’t even dead sure I was in Rocky Mount when I said yeah.
But then I remembered that I wasn’t dead sure that I was in Rocky Mount. And started second guessing myself. So I assumed there was some other Sheetz out there that I needed to find.
-stop once again and reroute GPS…again-
Then started second guessing my second guess.
And decided to ask.
Wait. So, not Franklin Turnpike, but Virgil Goode, right?
…and this is why I showed GJB how to drop a pin.
Once I finally found him.
After stopping. And rerouting my GPS. One last time.
In my defense. He knows me. Come on. You all know me. Would you trust me to find you without very specific information? Or even with very specific information?
But I did find him.
Collected him from Lil T. So she could focus on her younger kid. Without being distracted by her grown ass kid.
And off we went to take on the new challenge Beautiful Beastie and Everyone’s Favorite Husband put together.
And holy hell.
This route, y’all.
Over a 1,000 feet of climbing in 4 1/2 miles. And that climbing is straight the fuck up. And then straight the fuck back down.
And let’s keep in mind that there is still zero oxygen in the air right now.
And sometimes my brain does this thing. When it’s panicking about the fact that I’m gonna have to wear clothes with buttons again in a few days. Where it says, hey! Let’s do a leg day workout! Before we go run whatever bullshit BB has in store for us!
So I did that.
And then I did this.
Luckily, Floyd and Ella escorted us through the course. And every time I’d fall off pace, sweet Floyd would stop. And wait for me. With this patient, but patronizing look in his eyes. Like, “this is probably not the course for you.”
And I’d be all like, dude you’ve got four legs. Shit like this is easier on four legs.
And he’d be all like, “ok, sloth girl. Just keep moving.”
And there was one brief period. Around mile 3. When the skies opened up. And the thunder started rolling. And the lightening started striking. And the earth cooled down to a light smolder.
And Finn’s Dad was scared.
But we made him keep going.
Because y’all. Nothing is as awesome as running through a thunderstorm.
Or being able to actually breath real oxygen. For the first time in years.
But it didn’t last.
The rain eventually stopped. And the sun came back out. And the oxygen disappeared.
And we let BB say “just this last segment” one last time. Before we were done.
It was awful.
Just the perfect kind of awful.
Just the best worst 5 mile route ever.
And bonus. We got peppers as our finishers awards.
Food should always be the finishers awards.
And as we sat around eating and basking in the awfulness we’d just run. The rain came back. And I got cold. And BB tried to force sweatshirts on me.
Nah. Ima savor this feeling.
Do y’all remember what cold feels like?
(No, I know. I’ll be whining about that shit in a few months. Just let me have this moment.)
There was no point yesterday. While we were out in the woods. When I knew where I was. Or could have found my way back to my car on my own.
“How do you find your way through complicated routes?”
Ummmm, I don’t. I just follow y’all.
The only route I know with any level of confidence is North Fucking Mountain.
And we don’t talk about that one.
But this one. We’re gonna keep talking about this one.
Because it is the perfect kind of awful.
Also. I do know the other Sheetz. That’s on 220. I just didn’t know that was part of Rocky Mount. Or what the other name of 220 was.
My brain maps limit Rocky Mount to a very specific area.
And apparently they’re inaccurate…