chips, children, and chaffing.

My utmost of unconventional Thanksgivings feels decades ago. My brother was released from the hospital Thursday morning and low and behold the 'rents forgot a change of clothes for him. You'd think they'd have that one down by now, considering Patric has had about 15 surgeries throughout his 20 years. Way to go padres.

Buddo, my hero.

So we escape the hospital around noon on Thursday with my brother in a disposable scrubby kind of shirt, three day old basketball shorts, and dirty red hospital socks (the kind with the grippies on both top and bottom because of their precariousness). After a struggle to get the shirt over his giant and wounded head, we roll out (literally. via wheelchair). It's time to go gather our Thanksgiving feast. We had been anticipating another mid-day Taco Bell run so the fridge is bare.

We leave the store with chips. Lots of chips. 4 bags worth. Along with the fixin's for spinach and artichoke dip. And can't forget the brick of Velveeta. As we are throwing items in the cart, Patric keeps rattling off new ideas. Buffalo wings. Patty melts. Cinnamon rolls. All the while traipsing around in his red grippy socks. The hospital food must not have been doin' it for him.

So our Thanksgiving dinner consisted of about 3 1/2 pounds of chips and cheese. Delicioso.

Friday leaves nothing to report aside from the chastisement I received from a stranger on the drive back to Santa Barbara. I was texting while driving, I know, I suck. But you do it too, don't ya? Anyway, I'm driving along and I get flashed from behind (with lights, not boobs). I think to myself, hmm, I wonder why he's flashing me. Do I have a brake light out? I'm driving as fast as traffic, so it can't be that he wants me to get out of the way, but after the second flash I get over to let him pass. As he drives by me the person in the passenger seat mimics a frantic text messaging gesture. Busted. I laughed and proceeded to finish my text message (kidding. I threw my phone in the passenger seat feeling like a dog with his nose in the puddle he just peed on the floor).

Saturday I got the good fortune of babysitting for my favorite family. Five year old Hanna and two year old Dominic never fail to make me laugh. This time Hanna had me rolling because Dom was sleeping half the time I was there. We had some Nick Jr. show on in the background while we were playing with baby dolls and stuffed kittens and other girlie toys, when Hanna makes a notable comment. She looks at the TV and says, "That is a really awkward rainbow." I said, "what do you mean?" Because I clearly wanted to know if she even knew what the word awkward meant. She proceeded to tell me "Well that rainbow only has red, yellow, green, and blue. Umm, there's no orange or purple. So awkward." I died. Her tone of voice and nonchalance about the whole matter was hysterical. She then proceeded to moon me. Yes, a five year old girl mooned me. Several times. Until I nearly had to restrain her to keep her from doing it again. She thought it was the funniest thing in the whole world. Probably because I was laughing too.

About to strike again. 

Sunday I ran a trail marathon that was fierce and almost killed me. I can honestly say it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. And I've done some hard things. Like training a hermit crab to come when I whistle. And weaving a basket from palm fronds. And ensuring the safety and well-being of 22 Indian first graders with a language barrier 8 miles high. This race even trumps that time Jami told me I had to only choose 20 of my favorite books when I was being evacuated from my house due to a vicious fire. Yeah, instead of helping me shovel 'em into my trunk she sat on my bed and made me choose 20. Anyway, back to the race. I think there was something like 8,000 feet of elevation gain and the terrain was pretty technical and treacherous. I consumed probably 87 pringles, 8 liters of water, 4 lifesavers, 3 power bars, 2 paper cups of soda, 1 energy gel and a time capsule in a eucalyptus tree. Ok, I didn't consume the time capsule, but it flowed with the days of Christmas jingle. I just heard a story about the time capsule. I didn't even get to see it. I was too tired to climb and retrieve it from the hole in the branch where it lives. My gal pal Ashlee conned me into this nasty race, and when I say conned, I mean she posted a facebook status about it months ago, and I proceeded to register immediately. When I showed up at 5:45 the morning of the race, I immediately felt like a childish trail running rookie. These were veteran ultra-runners. Luis Escobar is the race director. He's a legend. If you've read the book Born to Run, you know who he is. Caballo Blanco's dog was there. This is not a rookie race. Follow the pink ribbons Luis says. And your time is not official until you take a shot of Fireball whiskey at the finish. He goes on to rattle off the comparisons between this race and the Western States 100. Yeah. All the while the butterflies are freaking out in my stomach. I think I just threw one up. I turn to Ashlee, "we're doin' it girl. We're really doin' it."

We drive to the start of the marathon course where we are de-briefed again about the intensity of this course, and strongly urged to back out if we're not prepared. Ashlee and I look at each other. "we're doin' it Ashlee. We're really doin' it."

Clearly before the race has begun.

So we start. About half a mile in I start walking. Well hiking. Briskly. There's no way I'm gonna waste myself on this mountain at the beginning when I've got a whole marathon to finish. That mountain was 5 miles long. 

Made it to the top with a smile and a handful of pringles.

Now the descent. My favorite part. I had just eaten 37 pringles, downed a cup of coke, and popped a jolly rancher. I'm ready to rock. I fly down the mountain and end up in the enchanted forest. Seriously magical. 

I am most alive in these moments.

As I get farther down, it gets cooler and wetter and far more colorful. It's actually Fall in this one little nook of Santa Barbara. My city doesn't display seasons very well. We've pretty much got a balmy summer going on all year. But in this place there are picturesque leaves coating the ground, babbling brooks, and the scent of recent rain. 

And then I'm smacked upside the head with more mountain. Up, down, and around we go. Hiking, walking, running, yogging. We reach the half-marathon point and give a whoop. And then realize we're only half way done. Half. We're deflated. Exhausted. My calves have started cramping. These are the same cramps I get at the very end of marathons, not in the very middle. I'm worried. But there is no alternative. We have to finish. It's not like I have a private helicopter awaiting my urgent call for retrieval. So we keep on keepin' on. We make it to the second aid station. Mile 15. There are only two aid stations in this whole marathon. I'm used to aid stations at every mile. I feast on pringles. I seriously can't get enough of them. Homeboy in the American flag itty-bitty running shorts fills my camelbak with ice water while Whiskey Jerry is passed out in the insta-chair under the ez-up. There's a bottle of Jameson sitting next to the pringles. I'm tempted. 

We're off again. 11 long miles to the finish. We're wasted. And not the drunk kind. About mile 17 I start shuffling along because I'm desperately trying to avoid my calves seizing up. My shuffling leads to tripping on a rock and falling on my ass. My calf immediately seizes up. Crisis un-averted that time.

I get up and we move on. I've got seizing calves and Ashlee's got serious psoas, glute, IT band issues. On we go. Mile 20 marks the arrival of the infamous "Nash." This man is Ashlee's boss at the running company she works for. He's got wispy gray hair and bright red shorty shorts on. He's probably about 65 and he's fresh and ready to rock. We, however, are not. He tried to crack the whip to no avail. We're done. No amount of pep talk is gonna add any sort of clip to our gait. We're hiking. To the finish. I am so weary and delirious I have to stop and bend over repeatedly, hands on my knees, deep guttural breathing. Ashlee has resorted to these little yips of pain as she trudges along. 

We get to the RV park where the race finishes and we're taunted by the sight of rows upon rows of RVs, and then the trail takes us back into the hillside. Those sadistic assholes. We've still got another mile to go.

And then there it is. The most anti-climactic finish ever. A small room with a few benches and a giant digital clock. There's my shot of Fireball waiting though. I take it and ring the cow bell. Official time is recorded as 6:54 and some change. That's 6 hours, not to be confused with 6 minutes. You crazy.

It burns so good.

We did it. It is finished. Time to eat. I have a confession. I grubbed on a big meaty burger after the race. My bowels were very angry with that decision. But in that moment, it was a most wondrous choice. 

Red Rock Endurance Run, I have conquered you, you nasty beast. Now on to the next adventure. Considering the Avalon 50 on Catalina...too soon?