When it was brought to my attention that this would in fact be the one thousandth post on our infamous little blog, I must say I felt some pressure. There are beads of sweat on my forehead as we speak. I think the funniest event in the history of this blog has never been written, and perhaps there is no more appropriate time than the present.
Our story begins in Denver, Colorado, in October of 2010. Three bright shiny blista sistas were up and out of the house in the dark pre-dawn hour and driving with anticipation towards the start line of the Denver Rock n Roll half marathon. All preparations had been made for healthy breakfasts, hydration, and energy drinks. As the sun peeked over the horizon, the three blistas headed towards the porta pottys for final race preparations. Sista 1 emerged victorious, having eliminated the need for lengthy porta potty stops along the course, and fell in with the crowd to wait for the others. Sista 2 suddenly burst from a porta potty, limbs flailing and shrieking, "there was POO on the seat!! POO ON THE SEAT!!! I got poo on my hand!! POO ON MY HAND!!!!" The crowd parted like the red sea to make way for the obviously crazy lady flinging a poo laden hand haphazardly through the air. Sista 1 was confused, thinking that sista 2 had gone in right after her, but that couldn't possibly be the case given this recent development. Unless . . . hmmmm . . . No. Couldn't be. She was much more careful than that. Nonetheless, Sista 1 shrank back into the crowd to avoid any association with the obviously crazy poo flinging lady until they were a safe distance from the porta pottys. Sista 3, meanwhile, had come to the rescue and was consoling Sista 2 through dry heaves and hysteria, while Sista 1 walked silently along with them, and then volunteered, as if hoping to help the situation, "well, if it helps, I think it was probably my poo," to which Sista 2 shrieked "IT WAS YOUUUUUUU I KNEW IT!!!! EWWWWWW!!" Sista 2 replied with the obvious, "who doesn't look at the seat in a porta potty before they use it??" Sista 1 continued with sad efforts to wipe her hand on the grass and ground, weeping, searching unsuccessfully for somewhere to wash her hands or even for antibacterial gel, both of which proved elusive. And that was just the beginning of the difficult day for Sista 2, who managed to lose her ipod on one of several subsequent porta potty stops along the course (or did it defect, given its filthy circumstances?). Alas, that was the last race the sistas have done together, perhaps having been undone by an errant poo.
Today I did my 3 mile route to the gym, which is a good thing because I had to stop in and use the facilities before I ran (walked) home.
Best. Race. Ever.
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