Probably Shouldn’t Call It A Comeback…Yet

I just screamed obscenities. At a soap dispenser. While slamming it on the bathroom counter. Repeatedly.

…it wouldn’t stand up…

It’s possible…

*sigh*

It maybe is time for me to be medicated.

Heavily.

But when your body starts surprise hemorrhaging. Definitely not on any kind of predictable schedule. But, say, in the middle of an 8 mile mountain hike. It tends to make you a little ragey.

“Are you sure you’re not just peeing?”

That’s fair. There is precendent.

But no, Rogue. I’m not sure. But it…No. Yes I am. I’m sure. I mean, some of it’s probably pee. But no. Not all of it. Definitely not all of it.

It’s cool. I’ll just keep this long sleeved shirt wrapped around my waste. Instead of wearing it. On my arms. That are currently freezing. As we race to beat the sunset. On top of a mountain.

I’m fine. Totally fine.

So, I have to carry womanly things around with me. Just. Always. Now. So, that’s awesome.

And we don’t live in Scotland.

So, I’m fully resentful that I have to continue paying for products. When I’m already paying for the exact birth control that used to make those products unnecessary.

But also?

I had my highest mileage week in four months this week. Almost 40 miles. And 8,000 feet of climbing.

I’d head out for the 2.03 miles it would take to make it an even 40. But I’ve also coincidentally hit exactly 1,000 miles for the year. And I’d like to hold onto that for a day.

But for real. Almost 40 miles and just a shit ton of climbing. In one week.

And not a single bit of pain.

No pain.

I have zero pain.

I have muscle soreness. A little.

But absolutely no abnormal pain.

Granted. My uterus feels like it’s trying to eat its way out of my body.

But just not even the slightest bit of running-related pain.

I don’t even…

I’m gonna propose to Sub Chiro Doc when I see her on Tuesday.

She notices when I get my hair done and what runs I have planned, too. So, she’s bound to make a great husband.

I still don’t have any speed. Or power. Like I was promised. By initial Chiro Doc.

But I can run. Pain free.

My goal this week was to just get in as much mountain time as possible.

Kicked it off Tuesday night with a trip to North Fucking Mountain. With GJB. And 100 Miler.

And I’m not sure how humans are able to maneuver the rocky bullshit that is that mountain in full daylight. But at night? Holy hell.

You can’t run that. Or, at least, you shouldn’t.

I probably know this ugly ass mountain better than any place on earth. Which. Damn. That’s sad. But I was struggling. Both to not just fall the hell off the side. And to manage any kind of actual pace.

So, when I hit the top of Grouse. Where 100 Miler and GJB were waiting. Quite patiently. I told them I was turning around.

And I spent the four miles back to my car distracting myself by chatting with Power and Discussions of Anger and Sadness.

Because this…

I mean, it’s not not scary.

I gave Power a pretty solid Blair Witch performance.

And it probably wasn’t a super smart move to spend Friday on Cove Mountain with Rogue. Knowing what I had planned the next day.

But we needed that mountain time.

Because obviously I’m emotionally unstable right now.

I need my safe people spaces. And views.

And she let me just hike. Aggressively hike. But still. Hike. The entire 8 miles.

But aside from the hemorrhaging. That happened on the way back up the mountain. It was a perfectly relaxing afternoon.

So I was ready. For Day Creek. Saturday morning.

I had no idea which route we were taking. Or how far we were going. Or how far I was going.

But I showed up.

Along with all the hunters…

It’s fine.

I didn’t engage with any of them.

It’s kind of hard to act intimidating towards someone when you’re peeing in front of them.

And also, I knew I was gonna be the weakest link. And could easily be picked off. Trailing so far behind the pack.

Because damn, y’all. I’d forgotten these climbs. That start right from the jump.

At one point. Around two miles in. I almost just turned around. Because.

That mother fucker was at just the wrong height.

I’d been climbing for a solid mile. No way I manage to climb over that. And if I try to crawl under, I’mma just have to live there. Under it. Forever.

So, I kinda crawled into the weeds. At the far end. Where it was low enough for an average sized human woman to kind of prop her hip up on and sort of roll over.

As I was struggling my way up the last initial climb. I glanced back. And saw someone approaching. And two seconds later. B Lang was right behind me.

“I’m glad I caught you! Is anyone ahead of you?”

Dude. Everyone is ahead of me.

And there they all were. Standing at the overlook. As we came out onto the Parkway.

Initially, Beautiful Beastie was afraid I’d collected a hunter. On my way up.

Nah, it’s cool. This one’s one of us.

Now, this is the point where I was envisioning turning right. And heading over to Black Horse Gap. And making my way back down to my car.

Eight miles sounded so…reasonable. For a Saturday morning.

Why is everyone turning left, though?

And they didn’t even give me time to chat about it.

So, left I went. On over to Salt Pond something or other. I think. I don’t actually know.

I just know that this route takes you to a particularly bitchy section of the AT. Where you spend the first mile going straight the fuck down. On leaf-covered rocks. So, it’s absolutely not a reprieve from all the climbing. Because it’s terrifying. And exhausting. To keep yourself upright. And on the actual mountain.

And then. Five miles later. You have to climb back up out of that bitch.

See that? Allll the way over there? That’s North Mountain Overlord. And Finns’ Dad. And Dude With the Charming and Disarming smile. And K-Rob-D. And basically every damn body else.

Meanwhile. I’m back here. Trying to coax my legs. To keep moving forward. Bribing them. With a Kind bar.

My legs absolutely do not believe a Kind bar is a coaxing treat.

So, I started promising them real food. Chicken. And mashed potatoes. And mac and cheese. And beer.

And so they reluctantly pulled me up off of the AT.

Onto Black Horse Gap.

Where Beautiful Beastie was waiting for me.

Even though I had been very clear that no one should wait for me. Because I was taking my sweet ass time.

But she was worried. About hunters. Which was fair. Because me.

And she ran me on down Black Horse Gap to the cars.

(I was just gonna walk that shit.)

And she showed me the new Dragon’s Tooth that they’d installed on the way down.

Seriously.

That giant pile of massive rocks hasn’t been there the previous 10 times I’ve run this route.

And BB may have talked me into the 50 Miler she has planned for February. Because this week’s showing has only made that the obvious challenge to take on.

And when we finally reached the cars. K-Rob was waiting. With the most delicious ice cold Mich Ultra I’ve ever tasted.

And I know now. How much work I have to do. To get back to a reasonable ultra runner status.

Ran into Mama Goose and her younglings on my way home. As I was fulfilling the food promises I’d made to my legs. On the mountain.

I was recognized by the Uber Charismatic youngling as the “one that was laughing.” Because. Yes. I laughed almost the entirety of the Mama Goose podcast. Because I could see all of Mama Goose’s facial expressions. And they made me giggly.

They told her they thought I was pretty. And young. And probably Native American. Possibly related to Pocahontas. And that I look fast.

I look fast, y’all.

That particular assessment came from the Uber Athlete. The one dominating the wrestling mat. And baseball diamond. And football field. And trail races. And basically anything involving athletic ability.

Uber Athlete thinks I look fast.

We don’t need to tell him that I barely managed to finish a 15 mile trail run.

I mean, as long as I look fast. And young. And pretty. And something akin to Mexican. What the hell else do I need?

*sigh*

Meds.

I definitely need meds.

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