In preparation: flashcards for Deutschland, a marathon training plan, highlighters. Bags packed in cold pizza, sweatsuits and cut tee's. We meet off the hwy to decorate Van 1, send off our six. In the interim I'm back to studying & try to create cornrows, which is usually approached once a month, and which always ends in anger. Van 2 meets up at the dt firestation, loads up and heads to b.h.s for Rag safety & swag. It's blue & hot; we lose some men to Wander. In late afternoon, Van 2 begins. I live mostly in a state of personal noise and outside quiet, so when personal noise meets outside noise it's slightly frantic, hard to focus; need for deliberate, for eye contact, otherwise I'm halfway between mein deutsch ist schlecht, upcoming, the race itself, my health, your health, and what gets sacrificed at times, but which I find most important - presence with a person. You have to find the groove. This is all just short for anticipation.
Handfuls of gummy bears, nut mixes, chicago crack. A few sips of water. I hadn't run in about 2 days, so I figured I'd be coming from a really zesty place. In my first experience (2014), the first run really suckkkked, the catalyst to hours of nausea & GI distress; I was hoping for something different, but nein. Probably because: see above. The first leg was a little over 4 miles, ending at b.e.h.s.. I felt dramatic, awful, but also, intrinsically, that if I could get my body temp down and check the box, I'd be set for #2. Something in me knew #2 was my true blue, but I didn't want to say it in case I pooped in my white shorts, which would be a real not true blue situation.
After we finished our first round we had the luxury of resting up at a church, the food set on stage, hot showers with shampoo that smelled like Hawaii, passed under the stalls, a constant buzz of someone flipping their flop, someone trying to quietly eat pita chips.
The second leg (9 mi) started sometime after 3 am. I got the hand-off from Al, beautiful and strong, who had just tackled what was considered the hardest leg, so much so that she was awarded a killer whale medal and a shower pill. She slapped that 80's slap bracelet on me, and I proudly and jealously (because of her whale necklace), took off with what must have been a transferred umpff of energy. Some nugget was riding me on the undulations, and I was like, "breaux..." Until finally he sidles up & asks me who I run for, to which I proudly exclaim "Robberson," and to which he responds, "I just graduated from h.s.," and then I say what h.s. I went to, because, I realize, I don't know how to talk to young people anymore. He says, "Come on," and I do. I appreciated that. He was a good light to follow. The night run was what I wanted; I gave into it. Josh & I came to the conclusion that there's something in running at night that really narrows focus & allows for a more a singularly-focused, capable kind of execution, at least for us. It's been my best leg. Something about seeing a light in front of you and running to it. Something about lack of depth awareness, and lack of sight. I love racing at night. It's more intrinsic, less complicated, narrow.
Bone Thugs' Mo' Murda was introduced as a sing-a-long to the night's kills. All of us found great joy & long smiles cheering for the runners by name at night. Mostly I go back to the sound of voices, the texture of them, where they intonate, and also standing beside Aly in the cold, no words, bib-sharing and just being ready for the simple act of taking a coat from someone's shoulders.
After all were through with their 2nd leg, we took advantage of another private church; I almost died fahrtin in ma sleepin bahg. Blueberry bagel. Coffee-desperate.
On looming hills we'd pull over, play the music, dance. The forms never broke because the spirit's were too high. Roadside flower stands, Baine like a soul-fairy full of surprises, Leighton always of guided energy & incredulous humor, J.Jarvis, truly rad, the definition of, Aly, just real, with the good outfits and how her mouth poses and her words spill, Alyson so focused, determined, and fueling to the group, and this is just Van 2. Imagine.
The 3rd and final leg (4 ish miles) was a gift. I wore zebra which, importantly did not give me camel, pink lipstick and that righteous #147 bib. Van 1 & 2 showed great love in these final miles. I cursed at the top of the hill, feeling tricked, and the look in their eyes read, "Girl, what are you even whining about? This is your last leg!" Coming in to the finish chute, I sprinted wildly, with the team smiling large & truly, hosting an aura of genuine happy that seemed to reach far into the sky. I don't find much pleasure in the finish lines of my own personal ventures, but when I can come in with 11 others, who all went through it, felt it, feel it, love it - that's a really powerful and hardly felt thing. Cherish. It doesn't last long.
At the finish we sat around a table with two boxes of pizza & a beer a piece. We shared from the pockets of our own experiences. For lunch, another round, burgers and waffle fries as the sun baked the salt of our backs. And I, rolling wid my killas. Mo murda mo murda.
If you want to hear another p.o.v. and get the Robberson backstory, check out my beautiful friend and teammate, Aly's
blog.
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