THE FREAKS COME OUT AT NIGHT aka DOPE AS FUCK - Night Hawk 20 miler, Lake Clinton, 6/24-6/25/17

     I am writing this blog for 2 reasons, scratch that 3 reasons.  Reason #1 - the title.  That 6 word lyric has been in my head since I signed up a couple of weeks ago.  I find myself having sung it, out loud, at work, without even realizing.  I am hoping a good old fashioned rambling, way-too-long blog entry will put it back on the dusty shelf in my way-huge brain where it belongs...besides The Freaks Come Out At Night is dope as fuck and quite apropos for the subject at hand.  Reason #2 - I have a terrific idea (I really wanted to say dope as fuck idea, but...too soon) for another blog subject besides running so need a practice one to get the juices flowing.  Sounds dirty, not dirty.  Not that the emo running blogs weren't great.  That whole - I look at the picture of me finishing the 100 mile and all that came to mind was "I've always been my greatest disappointment" and related psychoanalysis - was gold (also dope as fuck, but gold is good).  But that gets old too....eventually you learn that thinking you are a piece of shit isn't doing anybody any good, so you get a more realistic view of yourself....personally I like to focus on all the dope as fuck stuff about myself and ignore the rest but luckily I have people in my life whose main role is to point out all the non-dope as fuck stuff that I need to work on.  That's cool....chalk it up to always learning, always growing.  I can deal with that.  Probably why I haven't written a blog in awhile....I'm ok, you're ok, OK, but BOOORRRRRRIIING.  Reason #3 - I can't fucking remember.  It took me so long to write Reason #1 and #2 (reason #2 is really reason #3 so I can't remember the original Reason #2).  Oh yeah (I remembered like 8 min later) .. It's the pics.  I didn't just want to post the race pics and say - Oh, here's a bunch of pictures of me that Rick and Kristy Mayo took so you know they made me look dope as fuck.  You better love, not like them bitches!   What better way surreptitiously post them than embedded in a blog with lots and lots and way too many lots of words??!?   Speaking of which:

Here we have the race shirt in red, notice the hawk with the....LOOK AT ME  DO IT NOW!!!

So even though this was only a 20-mile run, I haven't run a trail race in awhile.  It was a nostalgic feeling when I pulled out my hydration vest.  There was also a feeling of nausea since it smells like wet socks that a diseased rodent wore on it's nether-regions.  I'll get a new one, don't judge.  I almost threw away a GU that expired in Aug of 2014, but I kept it.  Before too long I will be the one saying "I got GU's that are older than you" to my fellow runners.  I got to hang out with Ashley S and Megan (Ed with the brief but witty cameo) and Darci and Bianca (who lent me headphones thank you, angel from heavens above), Kelly and Janee and Brian and you get the picture.  We took photos and I told them all how I had been at the KC Veg Fest earlier and worn out the only dog I have that could have done 20 miles with me.  I have an old one, a mean one and the young runner one I wore out earlier.  Looks like it's time to get more dogs!!  But I digress....back to Veg Fest KC.  I also told my story of how I ate a jackfruit sandwich and had a big bottle of kombucha because when in Rome.  Well, before the race (once in the fucking VegFest porta potty where I am of course sitting inside and Becky is outside, but still on leash.  So she is running around pulling on the leash wanting to go sniff that butt and chase that dog and do anything but sit fucking still for 45 seconds and I am trying to be fast 'cause it's a porta potty and they are all gross even if they are brand new (which this one wasn't) and hang on to her without her tearing the goddamn door off but it's hard because WHO THE FUCK IS STABBING MY INTESTINES FUCK PLEASE JUST LET ME DIE NOW diarrhea is happening.  But in just a few minutes I'm done and I am happy I didn't die in the porta potty at the 1st annual KC Veg Fest. Then the same thing happened right before I left to drive to Lawrence for the race, but I was at home, so being stabbed in the intestines wasn't such a horrible experience that time.  Race hadn't started yet, but I'm already overcoming hardships.  Dope as fuck.  Spoiler alert: I had zero stomach or butt or intestine issues so no on the trail diarrhea stories.  But if you think you are done hearing about my diarrhea, you are so very wrong.  

   So I am feeling like a million bucks and even though I am way undertrained (I've been running like 5 miles at a time for a couple of months now...and I feel good doing it and am enjoying running again, thank you baby jesus but don't say it out loud or you'll jinx it), I am excited - I can't wait to be out there in the middle of the night running around like a crazy person.  Sorry, like a freak.  Who comes out at night.  And is dope as fuck.  I'm not fast and the benefit of that is I don't have to plan how much time on Loop 1 and what I'm gonna eat and am I on pace, blah blah.  My goal gets to be to finish and have fun.  I think fast people are dope as fuck and I genuinely admire their athletic ability and amazed about what their little human bodies can do, but I don't strive for that myself.  Which is good because I have no natural athletic ability, so I'd really be "oh my god I suck so bad everything is my fault" emo then.  When I beat a time I had before at something, that means I was fast as fuck that day.  Finished near the top of the bottom third of finishers, maybe an hour, maybe two behind you, but in my head, all I know is I was fast as fuck.  That's how that goes, dear reader.

     We start and I listen to other people talk and wait for it to be dark and start thinking about what I'm gonna eat at the aid station.  It's not until mile 6.5, but I wanna be ready.  Keep my eyes on the ground, follow the person in front of me, enjoy the endorphins, normal stuff.  It gets dark and I put on my headlamp.  I couldn't find my real one, so I'm using like the first one I ever bought and the headband elastic is all fucked up and I can never get it tight enough unless I safety pin it.  I meant to do that before the race, even got an extra safety pin pinned in my shorts, but I chose to tell diarrhea stories instead.  That was like the worst thing, and it's not bad at all.  Winning!  I walked a couple of hills but ran most of them which is not like me but is now.  I used to never run hills.  Like hardly ever never.  And sometimes what I deemed a hill was hardly even a slope.  Now I can't NOT run them.  I'm not sure what the catalyst for this change was.  I have a good idea though, hear me out.  Sometimes I buy a PowerBall and a MegaMillions at QT.  I never win.  I've won like $2 maybe 3 times and once I won $7.  So what happened is one of the times I meant to buy tickets, I forgot.  It happens.  I'll be wherever next and think - shit, I meant to buy lottery tickets.  Oh well, next time.  Maybe, just maybe what is really going on is... had I remembered to buy tickets, I woulda hit big and been supermegarich for life.  Now, before you get all "money can't buy happiness", "lottery winners end up broke and depressed", just hang on a second, I get that.   I really do.  I am not saying that I get supermegarich and life is going to be supermega awesome and no more problems for Erica!  But, I have passions (I can't think of a better word, but not 50 Shades of Grey passions, those are better when they are cheap and easy, my friend) but my passions aren't something I can make a living at, so being supermegarich from the Missouri lottery would be dope as fuck in my book.  Let's just assume that's how it is for the sake of argument.  So, I don't win the lottery, but I am able to run hills now with not speed (we've covered that), but with enthusiasm.  So I think I've been given this great gift out of the blue, but really I've paid a price.  That came dangerously close to sounding like a Rush lyric, so on with the race.  

   I see Rick Mayo and know he's usually camped out before Land's End.  And just like that, BAM!

It's the biggest pic 'cause it's the coolest. I'm superhappy to see Land's End and I know it's coming, this ain't my first rodeo cowboy.  Besides, there's a sign that tells you 1/4 mile to go to aid station.  Land's End comes and Shawn with his Shawnness is nice.  They had a buffet and I was the only one there, but they were on it and offered me all kinds of stuff, which I love because so many times I haven't realized I needed something till they ask me.  Like "Oh you need a wipe" and you are like "Shit, yes I do.  I spilled sticky stuff all down my shirt and need to wipe it off".  That wasn't the case this time, I told them I didn't need one because that's what my pants were for, and everybody laughed which they have to do because they are supposed to keep you uplifted and be supersupportive.  Anyway, so very glad they were there.  So only 3.5 miles to go to halfway done and of course the last 3.5 miles of the loop is really like 8 miles but I'm still running all the time and digging it.  Loop 1 done and Shay comes out and totally does all my drop bag shit and grabbing stuff out of the back of my pack shit (I get to listen to music the second half, it's a reward for not being a loser quitter.  I've been the loser quitter before so now I have safeguards such as this against it.  Most of my brain time is spent coming up with ways to psych itself out) because Heather ignores me other than to acknowledge my presence.  I think she thinks if she is nice to me I will whine about wanting to quit (I am not a whiner.  At all.  For real. But she was my pacer at Rocky and got whining all fucking night long I don't know how she did it.  I would have told me to fuck the fuck off and then shoved me down and kicked me in the face, only 'cause there were no curbs on the trail to stomp my head on.  Maybe a tree stump stomp).  Anyway, I wouldn't even consider quitting, it's only like 10:30 so the good shit hasn't even started yet.  So off on Loop 2.  When you first enter the woods Heather's kid and Kristi and Rick's kid are there to tell you which way to go.  So I go that way and start messing with my phone and headphones so I can listen to music.  I already decided I was going to listen to Disturbed - the album with Down With The Sickness.  It came to me in a flash before Land's End even though I haven't even thought of Disturbed in years.  Seriously.  Limp Bizkit is my guilty pleasure.  I want to not listen to them, but sometimes I have to and I want to not love it, but I find myself singing asinine lyrics about dirty butts like I'm the Infredible D myself.  

    Anyway, I'm wrapped up in getting Disturbed pulled up on Spotify which I do and start running again.....before too long I hear little girls yelling - Go Runner, Nice Job, blah blah.  WTF?  Apparently I wasn't paying attention while f'n with my phone and ended back at the start.  I am telling everyone it took like 10 minutes.  It's more like 5, tops.  So I re-start Loop 2 and see where I probably went wrong.  Looks like I turned left and went down the path that had a big WRONG WAY sign in the middle of it.  Details, details.  So by let's say Mile 13 I am not really running.  It's like when you are at mile 50 of something.  I know I am going to be sore as hell the next day.  But I am all amped up on caffeine (filled my water bottle with a Grape Rockstar at the turnaround.  Don't care what you say, I count it as one of my better life decisions) and other asundry chemicals in a RockStar, so I keep moving.  There was a group of 5 or 6 girls that I knew were going to pass me,  And they did but then I got in the middle of the group and hung on for a bit, but I could tell that was WAY too fast to be sustainable.  I kept stumbling over shit and it would have been a matter of time before stumble becomes fall and head meets rock or knee meets rock or head meets tree on way down to meet rock where knee already is.  So I slowed my roll more.  We crossed the road where Leia was....I forgot that part.  So at the beginning they tell us that people are gonna win free shoes.  Not just those that place, but random others based on how they finish.  Like the manner in which they finish.  So I immediately think, well I'll just finish with no clothes on.  Give momma her shoes.  Well, after a second thought I realize I can't do that.  It's not feasible and there's kids and I am sure there would be some flack to deal with and I have had enough conversations and lectures on what is appropriate behavior and what is not to last me for like 8 more lifetimes.  It just wasn't worth it.  So there's a road crossing and my friend Leia is there to guard it I guess.  Maybe direct traffic, but traffic is just a random vehicle and if they're gonna hit you, Leia, although a superhero, isn't gonna be able to stop them.  You know, maybe she would, who am I to say.  Anyway, I tell her my finish line dilemma as I cross the road the second time on the first loop.  She suggests cartwheels, which disappoints me.  I get it, you're just trying to help, but you can do better.  You ARE better than that.  So I tell her she has a few hours to work on it.  So this time she tells me I could do an interpretive dance of my race.  OMG that is so along the lines of what I was thinking!  I could only get as far as doing some over-the-top acting of something, I was missing the something and Leia got the something.  I also thought I could yell Coming In Hot and then stop drop and roll (explaining what I was doing to the audience of 4) over the finish line.  It was early, I had time to come up with a dance.  But things are hurting and where the fuck is mile 6.5?  I am not sure if I'll see Rick or not before it (I did, but I didn't know it was him and he was facing the other way).  It finally comes and goddamn those volunteers are awesome.  I forgot how at night with the lights and the sweet food all the gnats come out and get in your mouth and up your nose and there's no getting away from them.  By the way, Shawn, please explain this:

Nevermind, I get it now.  This is what a moth would look like as it goes to the flame, as it always does.  Except instead of a moth, it's a 6'5" redhead.  Of course, silly me to not see that right away.

Anyway, I had Shay put a Coke in my pack (they always run out by the time I get there) way back when and I now got it out and poured it with what was left of my grape Monster.  Winning combination, I assume nobody else is gonna try it - that's cool, just take my word.  I had no business being there and feeling fly, yet there I was.  Next, me and my winning combination leave Land's End and only have 3.5 miles to go.  Longest 3.5 miles of my life (well, except the last 3.1 or .2 or whatever of FlatRock where time and space don't match up....I know I've been lost between 2 parallel universes in that last 3 miles and have spent more than one eternity there, I know you don't believe me but I am telling you something weird happens out there and its not good, I feel like I've narrowly escaped something akin to when certain people take acid and they never stop tripping) and I can't really move well and my body is pissed that I am doing this to it so it acts like it all of a sudden forgot how to move.  But if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other, you eventually get to the end.  You have to.  It's a rule.  I finished the Disturbed album, got some Die Antwood and Tribe Called Quest and right when I needed it the most Til I Collapse by Eminem came on so we (me and my winning combination) turned that shit UP and we were flying!  I am quite certain I was hitting a solid 16 minute pace, but it fucking felt like flying to me.  Oh yeah - at some point along there I get really pissed about this whole finish line shoe thing.  Not really sure now exactly why, but I decided to scrap it all - not even a stop drop and roll - and I'd just buy my own goddamn shoes.  So that's what happened, instead of me rolling on the ground or reenacting the emotional journey (I came up with doing animal noises to accompany it, which wouldn't have translated well in photos anyway), you get this.  Which is still dope as fuck, smells like victory, of the freaky variety, but still victory.

So I'm all done and Megan isn't too far behind me and Darci is all done with her first 10 miler and Ashley is all done with her 20 miler.  She got second but didn't tell anybody.  I would've told everybody but that's just me.  So instead of getting the chance to heap accolades on Ashley, I told Carol (who was there to volunteer so was not present at pre-race discussions) about my diahhrea.  Leia was there and hadn't heard it either.  Ashley had though.  I guess it's kind of an award, hear the diarrhea story twice.  I added stuff though for her benefit that I hadn't brought up before.  Like how the poo looked and that it required a butt washing, not a butt wiping.  Then Carol told us how some guy didn't understand why he shouldn't mate 2 puppies from the same litter, so as a way to explain, she asked him "Well, what happens when you have sex with your sister?"  Leia swore she was going to start answering all questions with this one, so please please please ask Leia a stupid question next time you see her.  Then I went by the fire and talked smack with the Mayo and the Cotten and whatever Shay's last name is kids just to end things on a high note.  So, that's what I was doing Saturday night from 8 till about 3 am when I left, aren't you sorry you were sleeping like a little baby and missed all the fun?  Grow up and be a freak and come out next year.  THE END.

PS - Don't bother stopping me if you've already heard this, but I wasn't sore the next day (well, only a little) because I am like the Terminator, which is dope as fuck.

HIATUS recap

I haven't written a race report in quite awhile.  I sat down to pen one for last Saturday's Psycho Psummer 50k and felt the need to catch up instead.  Apologies in advance if you expect any of these to have much to do with the actual races, but you really should know better by now.  Here we go:

I meant to write a race report (of sorts) after "pacing" my fellow Mudbabe Haley last fall in Utah for the Bear 100.  A few days before the race I split open my knee on a quite vicious rock at Shawnee Mission Park and had to get 15 stitches.  There are pics at the end for your viewing pleasure - consider them your dessert, if you will.  I have "pacing" in quotes as what I actually did was merely tag along for not very many miles down the side of a goddamn ice-covered mountain, popping stitches and oozing all over the place.  Sometimes we were sliding on our butts, and still not very safe. Could have easily careened off the side.  Sometimes we had to cross icy water...and I didn't think my fucking feet could be any colder - boy was I wrong ha ha ha!  Sometimes I would plant a trekking pole, take a baby step, plant another trekking pole, then with a very small hairlike tilt off-center-balance go crashing to the ice.  Not quite sure what Haley was doing as I was not paying her the least mind whatsoever - I did tell some stories and may have half-heartedly offered my poles during the water crossings.  After she fell in.  Excellent choice in a pacer Haley.  I will never forget that night and have been in very few predicaments quite as treacherous as that one, well at least very few sober.  We could have FALLEN OFF A MOUNTAIN.  Luckily Danny L was there to see her through to the end as my self-absorbed thoughts weren't actually helping Haley one iota.  We were all on the way to the airport the next day after her glorious finish when I threw up from too many painkillers and too many esses in the mountain roads.  I had a bag to do it in (is that a TWSS?  Are we still even doing that?  Is that one too?) and was in back of the van which everybody knows is the worst place to be, carsick-wise (and best place to be, makeout-wise).  I couldn't help it.  It happened a few times over several minutes.  Nobody noticed.  They were all talking about which hundo they were going to run next when Sophia turns back to me and says "So Erica, what's next for you?".  I told her I wasn't real sure, but could we stop please because I'm holding a bag of my own puke.  Surprisingly enough, nobody had a big problem with that (that being the stopping to throw the puke bag out, not the actual puking, although thankfully a chain reaction was not started).  Also made the car ride to the airport, besides the breathtaking views, one of the most memorable moments of the trip for me. 
So there is the race report for pacing The Bear that I didn't write.  Might be worth remembering the puking in the bag in the car...could be visiting a similar scene in a later report.  Subtle foreshadowing - I think Hemingway used this technique as well. 

I also meant to write a race report for Bandera 100K in January of this year.  I did one of two laps then got frustrated and bored and tired and whiny and quit.  I hadn't done that before.  I did not enjoy the experience at all.  I hope I don't forget the lesson I learned - quitting sucks.
So there is the race report for quitting Bandera 2014 that I didn't write.  Wow - that wasn't as bad as I thought.  Next.

I also meant to write a race report for Free State 100k in April.  I only did 40 miles - missed cutoff.  I don't remember much else.  This is why I write race reports - I love going back and remembering all the good times I forget otherwise.
So that's the race report for Free State 100k 2014.  It's a pretty crappy report.

I also meant to write a race report for Epic Ultra's Flint Hills 40 (this is the last one before the real one).  That was in May. Two things.  Three things.  One is Heather Cotten is a badass motherfucker and don't fuck with her.  I am glad she is my friend and not my enemy.  I don't think I have enemies though.  I am glad she is my friend and not my non-friend.
Second thing - the Flint Hills 40 is not in the Flint Hills.  It is on a trail called the Flint Hills trail.  I saw the name of the race and impulsively signed up for it.  Not a decision I regret in the least, mind you - quite the opposite.  However, I was under the impression that I was going to be running 40 miles in the Flint Hills.  That's what I told my dad a couple weeks later when I saw him.  He said "Oh, that's great.  Where exactly do you start?" So I looked up the website.  I'm reading aloud and I say - "Ottawa.  To Ossawatamie.  Hmmmmm.....I didn't know the Flint Hills were there.  Wow - neato".   He took a moment, sighed and shook his head and said "That's because they aren't Erica".   Dammit.  I think my Geography class was first period and I skipped that one a lot.
Third thing - Elliot is not getting any younger and perhaps I should start heeding caution more when it comes to exerting him in heat.  He was ok until the last aid station.  I should have left him there.  I felt weird about it because I got sent a special email pre-race about dogs but whatever - that's all on me.  We pretty much hiked it in - he had to stop and sit a few times and took awhile to recover once we finished.  His pads were pretty sore for several days after and he didn't poo for two days. He will be 5 years old in a few weeks and is now choosing to sit on the couch and watch the house and hang with Al the cat (I'm thinking of getting a bird - not enough animals around here) vs. run 5 miles with me and Cee Cee at 5am.  He's not hanging up his running shoes yet, but this race may have been his last 40 miler.  I think he knows I'm typing about him 'cause he just came by to see what's up.
So that's the race report for the Inagural Flint Hills 40 miler, and we are up-to-date.
Stay tuned for Psycho Psummer 2014 Race Report.  It's called Yum Yum and it will mention dry humping before you know what hit you.  Until then, feast on these.

After a rinse with water - my kneecap is on the left. 

Added this one for context

At the ER after a cleaning - he pulled out some sticks

There we are all stitched up - just like it never happened!

KEYS 50 MILE

   The Keys 100 and 50 mile ultramarathons were held on May 18.  They are both point to point races - the finish line is actually on the sand of Higgs Beach in Key West.  The 100 starts at Key Largo - the northernmost key and the 50 miler starts 4 hours later (10am) in Marathon.  The race is run along the shoulder of US1 aka Overseas Highway - the only road in and out of the Keys.  The relentless sun (we had a 20 second break - I'm not fucking exaggerating.  20 seconds of sun relief all day) and humidity are brutal.  I dig tough races.  That was just one of several good reasons to go down and run the race.  The $200 entry fee was not one of them (I wondered how I was going to work in the exorbitant entry fee into the report - not so hard).  They do have big fundraising for prostate cancer - education, screenings, etc.  So some of that $200 went to charity.  I still feel really gypped though - I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure I don't even have a prostate.  If it was prostate cancer in dogs, I would get behind that.  Frankly though, based on the douchebags I've recently had the pleasure of welcoming into my life just to fuck it all up thanks to dating, I'm thinking a few more awful, long, miserable prostate cancer deaths just may be what's in order.
   My training was another non-reason as my training was non-existent.  The last race I trained for was Rocky 100 in Feb 2012.  My training (I've written that word four times now and every time I notice what a joke it is me using that word) has been inconsistent and ill-suited.  In fact, during the last couple weeks leading up to the race I found myself having to stop and walk for a minute or so on my morning 5 mile runs before my heart beat out my chest.  It really wasn't even that warm.  So that inner voice would speak up and say - Gee Erica, don't you find it concerning that you can't run 5 miles in Kansas without stopping  yet are signed up for a 50 miler in heat unlike you've been in for a year? - and then I would respond to myself, saying - Yes, cause for concern indeed.  But maybe I'll just start the race and magic will happen.  What's up with those Royals?  --
   Back to the good reasons - the 50 miler would be an excellent recon mission for the 100.  Combining running and vacation is right up my alley and since I have family and friends down in S Fla, it would be nice to go down and do the 100 in the future.  This could be a great "trial run" for that.  My ex-sister-in-law Uma (she is Russian and very cool and as I learned on this trip, quite the freak) and her brother Sean (I knew he was a freak prior) and my beautiful 9 yr old niece Vivian

Freak In Training

My old apt in Victoria Park

Elbo Room = 151 floaters

(I'm sure she'll be a freak) live down in Key West.  My mom was going to be down there that weekend too as the aforementioned beautiful niece was in a ballet.  Back in the day I had a time share down there- I used to live in Ft Lauderdale and spent a couple days there prior to the race, visiting old playgrounds and playmates.  The night before the race I drove down to Key West, arriving fairly late. My mom is a baller and got a 3 bedroom, 3 bathroom suite at the Key West Marriot.  It was sick.  I was thankful as this would be by only good night of sleep since Tuesday night.  Pulled the all nighter Wed night before missing my flight (yeah I did - and left my running shoes at home too).  I stayed out late with my old friend Freddy and his girlfriend

How long does it take to not cook a turkey burger?

Thursday night, enjoying salmonella turkey burgers.  Up early for manicures with Christy, who was my first and best Ft Lauderdale friend (due to a recurring traumatic childhood event I am stronger for surviving, I am unable to get pedicures as people touching my feet is intolerable.  I just sat by and yapped while she got hers).  Beach and shopping and mango smoothie drinking the rest of Friday day.  Friday night was reserved for the Joinson clan.

3 pretty girls all in a row

Little kid and two pretty girls all in a row - f u Jimmy!!

Jimmy is always good for a night of belly laughs.  I haven't seen any of these people in over a decade.  I can't believe I had such great amazing friends - every one of them.  Anyway - the race.  So I catch a few winks at the hotel and then drive up to Marathon the next morning - I get there at 8:30am - race starts at 10am (the 100 milers started 50 miles north in Key Largo at 6am).  I have gobs of time to hang around.  I got a dog fix.  I got a photo session fix.  I missed the pre-race meeting during the dog fix.  I tried not to let the following thoughts take hold in my brain.  I did pretty well.  However, fleeting as they were, they did come often.  They were all thoughts such as:

• Wow - brand new outfit.  Cut the tags off this morning.  Never ran in it before.  Half the time new shit chafes me horribly - I've had shorts that after 4 miles are like razor blades cutting my thighs with every step.  Hope that doesn't happen today. 
• And wow - brand new shoes.  Never ran in them before.  Gonna head out in 50 sweaty miles in them now.  Hope they're comfy the whole time.  
• And wow - everybody else has a crew.  What the f is that about?  I thought crews were just for 100's.  I know I read somewhere that you get ice and water every 5 miles or so - that's all I need that I don't have, right?  Right?
• And wow - in the last 72 hours I have gotten 11 hours of sleep. . . and it took me a few tries to get the math on that right.  I had to bug eye myself to keep from nodding off on the drive up here this morning.  I don't think that's such a strong place to be coming from, mentally.   
• And wow.  50 miles in the killer heat/humidity.  Probably a good chance you'll die from heat exhaustion, knowing you.  Maybe shoulda gotten laid one last time before that happens.

There were a few others - getting hit by a car, stumbling and toppling off a bridge, etc. etc.  Not worth mentioning.  They are with me until the start.

   So we start - we run a few miles and then we get to the 7 mile bridge (yeah, it's 7 miles long). 

We run on the shoulder on the left.  Everything is measured by mile markers down in the Keys.  So the 7 mile bridge starts at about MM 47.  MM 0 is where we finish in Key West, where there is a MM 0 sign on the beach but I guess it always gets stolen.  Anyway, after the bridge (MM 40) is the first full aid station.  After that is aid every 5 miles.  Right away I notice how fucking hot I am.  For the record, there will be lots of discussion involving hotness and hardness.  I'm putting out a blanket TWSS now.  Anyway, I'm hot and can't breathe and am going soooooo sloooooow.  I have fallen into place with an old man.  And am having trouble keeping up.  I refuse to look behind me, lest there be nobody else there.  It's not long before I walk.  Fuck this shit.  Oh oh - gotta get outta that.  Waaaay too early for that.  Besides, it's gonna get way worse before it even starts getting better.  So the 7 mile bridge is probably where some of the worst happens.  Not the worst,  but bad.  First, I can't fucking keep my eyes open.  I had sunscreen on my face for the first time ever - well, not ever but the first time running.  I was already drenched in sweat, had no hat or headband and the combo of the bright sun and sunscreen in my eyes was not conducive to sight.  I had to hang on to the railing on the side of the bridge to guide me and walk/shuffle run with my eyes closed, tears streaming down my face (I wiped my face with my arm once which just made things worse as that too was slathered in sunscreen) feeling my way.  A little interjection here -- if you don't know me, you may be wondering, who is this chic?  Does she not know anything?  The one bag with the shoes gets left at home? Who hasn't figured out that sweat and sunscreen in the eyes burns them?  Is this like her first run or something?  Is she retarded?  Maybe she's retarded, that would explain it.  Poor girl.  -- No, I am not retarded.  I may be stupid, but that's why I'm so tough - I gotta be.  So suck it.   You see those light poles in the pic above?  I was already doing the run two, walk one thing.  They are not that far apart.  I don't think the entire 50 miles I ran more than 3/4 of a mile continuously.  Yet every time I walked I would freak out that I wasn't running and pick it up again as soon as my heart would allow.  A few people slowed down as they passed me to tell me how red I already was and I should put shirt on when I meet up with my crew.   I have a drop bag at the end of the bridge - I'm pretty sure there is a shirt in there I can wrap around my head.  I also ended up throwing one of my contacts into the ocean after it came out on the bridge - not too good for the ol' depth perception, but after everything else that's pretty bottom-of-the-list stuff.
   I finally see the end of the bridge and the little aid station table.  I go to my drop bag and a volunteer immediately comes over with a bottle of sunscreen and pity in her eyes (for the record, I didn't even really burn - just got pink - the American Indian in me allows me a great tolerance for sun exposure with no burn along with the predeliction for firewater).  As it turns out, there is no shirt in my drop bag.  There is nothing that can be used as a sweatstopper at all (I didn't know the chapstick trick then, and I know I had some).  I ask if anyone has got anything I can use and am met with silence (there's like 10 people around). It's amazing how quickly my issue becomes their fault.  They are all stupid and mean and if they can't help me fine, but they should be very upset that they can't help me.  I can't handle all this misery by myself, you know.  I decide I just have to leave that place pronto before I behave badly.  Luckily this dude who I kinda met in the parking lot before the race gave me a supercool bandana you can put ice in and it was blue just like my outfit.  It saved my race.  I wish I remembered who he was so I could look him up and return it.  I'd even throw in a bj next year.  No, I wouldn't.  But I am really grateful.  I leave (I have a feeling if the people at the aid station had odds on me finishing, it wouldn't be good) and immediately notice the improvement.  I kept waiting for my doo rag to stop working but it never did.  Only had to squint against the sun and looking down solved most of that problem.
     So I was able to keep on keeping on.  I stopped to take pics of the scenery:

Dead lizard

Dead furry thing - probably a Florida cougar

Dead Alligator or lizard if you don't have any imagination

Dead turtle. 

Not a good road for snakes

Like a bloody dead fish out of water

Snake guts

Death is not kind, beauty-wise

About 3:30pm things started to get touch and go.  I was really hot and really brain fogged.  It would get better then worse then better, etc.  The chills came and went as well.  I just needed to hang on until sundown.  It helped that every other person I came across was miserable as well.  I would chat with them and then they would leave me to go meet up with their crew and sit in a/c and get ice and whatever else they felt like they needed until the next mile when they got to do it all again.  Pansies.
   The traffic really started to get to me -- at one point I did put on some music to try to make the traffic less of a nuisance, but the music was too much of a distraction and I couldn't handle that for long.  The cars were close and noisy and distracting and I could feel their heat and exhaust in my lungs.  A couple of times I caught myself meandering into traffic.  Like on purpose.  Sometimes when I'm a passenger in a car on the highway I get an overwhelming urge to open the car door and jump out.  So I lock the doors for safety when that happens.  I thought everybody did this but I asked a couple of people down at Syllamo this year and they couldn't relate.  Anyway, this was like that.  Except I couldn't trust my sane mind to control my body so I had to repeat to myself "Don't jump into traffic, don't jump into traffic"  I swear the heat was making me crazy.  I think that may be why if someone is gonna get on the news for chewing a guy's face off, it's in Florida.  Not an excuse, just a reason.  I already  saw a guy about MM30 get taken away on an ambulance and at the aid station ran into the guy who just dumped a bag of chips on the table from droppers.  Saw him twice and both times with a full bag. 
   I was chugging along.  I know I was calculating my time and seemed to be right on schedule but honestly can't remember what that was.  I think a 12 hour finish.  It ended up being 14 1/2 hours.  I would run into people and chit chat.  Most were from Florida and would say -- it's hot where I live, but not hot like this. I actually threw my hands up and lifted my face to the heavens when that weird 20 second cloud cover passed over.  People would offer me ice from their crew but I only took it once -- from this one lady who I think slowed down to stick with me.  She started to steal my energy - I was fading fast.  I stopped to take another pic of a dead thing and my phone was all wet - it wouldn't work.  When I gave up (no more dead animal pics the rest of the way) I realized I had zero energy left.  None.  Empty.  I actually had to stop and squat as I couldn't take another step.  Seriously, that's exactly what I did.  She may have been mid-sentence and I turned to her and said - I'm really sorry but I gotta slow down and you have to keep going.  And I squatted down.  And wasn't sure I was gonna be able to take another step.  That was as close as I came to actually stopping.  Never before have I seriously doubted my ability to take another step.  It was a little after 4pm at this point - I was dying.  Things got better when she left.  It didn't last long and by better I just mean I could move forward again. 
    The sun finally went down.  I was so very aware of it - that relentless beating of the bright heat subsided and it felt fucking fantastic.  I ran more.  It was still - run to "x", "x" being not very far ahead at all, but there was more of it.  My mood elevated.  That lasted about an hour.  My lower back started hurting, which is normal once I go past 20 miles.  But it was hurting alot more than usual.  I would get relief if I held on to the side of a bridge in front of me and then squatted down.  So I started to do that, even though it looked like I was peeing if you were driving by.  Then I started finding anything to hold onto so I could squat down.  Same with actually sitting -- I would see the end of a bridge where the cement juts out and I would sit on that corner - just big enough for a butt cheek.  Towards the end I remember seeing a cinderblock at the edge of a pile of junk.  I kept saying to myself - don't sit on it Erica, don't sit on it, you just sat, don't sit on it, walk right on by.  I walked right on by. . . then turned around two steps past it and sat down.  When I would sit or crouch down it would feel so good, but then I would realize I wasn't making any forward progress and I would jump up after just a few seconds.  But, unlike the stretch my foot move at Rocky, I didn't stop doing it when I realized it wasn't really helping, just slowing me down.  I guess my willpower is getting weaker with age.  Fuck that - I blame the heat.
  Just a couple more things happened until the end.  One is the puking.  I took a chocolate gel around MM15ish? and as soon as it went down I knew it wasn't gonna stay there.  It lasted about 62 seconds.  Here it is on re-entry:

Don't puke on your new shoes!!

So that was troubling -- 15ish miles to go and I could hardly keep down water.  Sometimes I would take a drink and it would just come back up a few seconds later.  I would just take another drink.  I had it in my head that I needed energy in my stomach so I just kept drinking little sips.   The whole - is this drink gonna stay down - was just another thing that sucked, no more no less.  It eventually got better.
   The second is the light police.  So it's dark and I have another drop bag at MM10, where my light is.  Except I'm wrong and I already passed my drop bag back at MM20.  I'm walking on this path (towards the end you actually get parts where there is kind of a walking path that puts space between you and the road) and I hear some girl yelling at me.  I say "what" a few times, but can't hear what she's yapping about but she sounds kinda frantic so I wait for her to catch up to hear what she says.  She tells me I don't have any lights and they'll DQ me -- they apparently made a big deal about it at the pre-race briefing I missed.  Which I get - it's dark and Saturday night in the Keys and if you're gonna be running around on the fucking road, have light and reflective gear.  If you don't, you should get hit just on GP for being such an idiot.  Have some smartass run by and stop to take your pic to post in their race report.  So after being all snotty about my light like a Miss Priss, she asks me if I think she'll finish and I tell her I know she will - we're so close.  I don't say - if you have enough energy to catch up to me and get in my shit like a little troll, you certainly have enough to get another 10 miles - but I think it.  There's some more back and forth about that and then it's back to me getting DQ'd for my light - I tell her I got my light in my drop bag up at MM10, which shouldn't be too far.  She starts telling me how our drop bags were at a different aid station we already passed.  She didn't even have a drop bag because she has a crew so what the f does she know?  At one point she says to me "You're wrong" in the same fucking know-it-all tone that I have used crapzillion times to a crapzillion morons I've met in life.  Why is this happening to me?  Why won't she fucking die already?  No bitch, I'm not wrong.  I'm ahead of you and way cooler than you and if I wasn't on the verge of puking I'd punch you in the face.  Now there's a couple of back and forths about the light and drop bag locations.  I explain to her that our drop bags were at MM40 and ...fuck.  Somehow I got the 40 and 10 confused in place of the 40 and 20 (pretty sure it's because it's all about the 50 and 40 and 10 make 50).  I realize my drop bag was back at MM20 right in the middle of the explanation and say fuck and stop talking.  She takes that as I stopped talking because I'm not dealing with her any more and says she's sorry if she seems rude, but she has heat exhaustion and threw up earlier and is absolutely miserable.  Well, join the fucking club nancy.  I'm all that AND I got no light.  It's really superdark now and superdangerous and I know I'm not going any further without a light.  Fuck me.  So now I all of a sudden am nice to her 'cause I need her light to get me to the next aid station, which luckily was like just another minute or two.  Even more luckily, someone turned in a light they found that had been dropped so I had that.  I took it and fled, leaving the troll behind (I could hear her tell her "I have heat exhaustion and I puked earlier and do you think I'm going to finish" bit to the volunteers).  I really don't know why it's so hard for me to have compassion for other human beings - it's so easy for me to care about dogs.  I am very well aware of how awful I can treat other people for no good reason and I'm sure that's just one of the reasons I'm going to hell (unless I can con my way into doggie heaven, which I'm betting on).  But in any case that's why this happens:  another path veers off from the road so I go down it.  Then I see three guys (another annoying thing - the relay teams flying by you all fresh and happy) on the road pass above me.  Oh Oh...I sure hope...yep - path dead ends.  There is a 4 foot high wall to scale to get back on the road.  We're about MM6.  I can't be climbing up walls like a goddamn circus monkey.  Then I hear the troll ask if there's a way up.  I didn't know she was so close.  If I turn around to walk back to get on the road, she'll be ahead of me.  I tell her you can climb a wall and I see her turn to walk the other way.  So I climb the wall and get on the road and start running, laughing like an evil maniac on the inside.  All fueled by disdain for a comrade-in-arms.  Not at the time, but now I do feel shame.  Well, slightly embarrassed.  FYI - she got ahead of me -- I was really superdying at the end and couldn't eat or do anything about it.  So she was ahead of me until she stopped to see her crew and then I heard them say there was only a half mile left and I saw her turn and start booking it so I started booking it but no way either one of us was running a half mile at that point - what a joke - so it was an eternity that I was chased by her.  She was on my heels the whole time -- I could hear her behind me.  Then all of a sudden she was gone.  I looked back and couldn't see her.  I still booked it - we were so close and besides, she was probably gonna try to pull something tricky.  As I enter the beach I see my mom and all the Russians and some other guy I don't know and everybody is clapping and cheering - as it should be!!  Anyway, we snap some photos and then have to get out of the way - my nemesis was arriving.  She was like a couple minutes behind me - tops.  Still, if it was just us two in the race I'd be the winner and she'd be the loser. 
   We go back to the baller suite, I go to bed one really happy and satisfied honey badger, and I have a killer time the rest of my time in Key West.  So killer that decorum prevents me from saying more, other than it was hot and hard.  The End.
   

Starting a trend - finish line balloon bouquets.

So, let me tell you all about what I just did.

    
 

 

ROTTEN

     I had an eventful Memorial Day weekend so am writing my thoughts on it down before they are lost forever.  Life has a way of erasing the old to make room for the new - lots of details and feelings I don't want to forget, and one incident I can't ever forget.
     My weekend kicked off Thursday at around 11am when I left the office for an employee lunch at an apartment complex in KCK we own and manage.  I would not return to my place of business until Tuesday morning, promptly at 8:15ish.  I am almost remiss about explaining the pure elation I felt at an unbounded 117 hours that lay before me, but not remiss enough.  Monday through Friday, excluding holidays and two weeks vacation a year, I work as a controller for a property management company ("company" being one man, John, who owns rental houses and a few apartment buildings) 8:15am to 2pm.  I have a lot of free time not available to most people.  Believe me, I know how big that is and I enjoy it and appreciate it and know that when it's gone I will probably miss it more than I think.  I've been here 5 years and have alot of freedom, as long as the work gets done the way John demands, we are kosher, and that's not too difficult.  No stress, no taking work home, get to wear whatever I feel like.  If I want to sleep in and not take a shower before coming in, no one will be the wiser.  On the other hand, my boss is. . . .a piece of work.  More often than not, when people I know through my work found out that I was planning on running 100 miles, or (later) that I HAD run 100 miles, they would comment how that must have been nothing compared to working for John.  I found myself unable to argue with that.  He has been fired as a customer on more than one occasion - businessmen would rather he not approach them with money for performing services - they want him to leave and never come back.  In addition, I am ridiculously underemployed.  Many days I am done with my work by 10am, left with 4 more hours to kill.  I replaced a full time CPA and a part-time receptionist - I have no idea what the hell they did all day.  I have a Master's of Accountancy, passed the CPA exam, have public accounting experience under my belt, yet there have been days that posting his golf scores are my "A1 priority today, Erica".  I don't expect sympathy, kind reader.  I know perhaps there are a few other people who are not completely satisfied with their employment and have a horrible boss, for far better reasons than mine.  I will take underemployed over unemployed any second of any day.  I also know this is not permanent - I am nothing if not persistent and determined, and I am positive I will be able to take advantage of a greater opportunity, as yet unknown, to be more useful in my "career".  Why people aren't banging down my door to pay me handsomely to run their accounting departments is beyond me (I guess the felonies and 15 months jail time are blemishes), but fine - if the mountain doesn't come to Erica, Erica just goes out and gets a bigger and better mountain.  Digressing - sorry.  Suffice it so say I arrived at our Employee Appreciation Lunch practically skipping, one fine meal of Oklahoma Joe's ribs and coleslaw away from sweet sweet freedom.
    Later Thursday afternoon, sitting on my couch watching Parks & Recreation with a jumbo Slurpee (ok, and some peanut M&M's), Bandit got dropped off for the weekend - his family was going on a road trip and I was petsitting. 

Bandit.  Bad to the Bone.

Bandit was rescued by Chain of Hope, a grassroots organization that does a lot of rescue efforts and education of owners in the "economically challenged" areas of KC.  COH came into contact with Bandit while he was in the yard with his owner - a shitty house in a shitty neighborhood.  They approached the owner to ask about Bandit (see if he needed any help, make plans to get him neutered, etc.), but were unable to carry on a conversation with the owner as he was fucked up on something and couldn't comprehend the English language at that time.  So they left their information with him - about all they could do just then.  A couple of days later, the owner called for help - his puppy was sick, diarrhea and vomiting.  COH went over and was able to get Bandit from his owner - just in time to save his life.  Bandit was dying of Parvo, an insidious disease prevalent in puppies that kills the majority of them.  Bandit survived - a miracle in and of itself!!  Once cleared of all that, I got Bandit to foster.  He was very hand shy -- apparently the guy also liked to hit his dog.  He still loves to bark like a ferocious beast at men (but he digs Brian, who was the first to see the rottenness in him, going so far as to say that mangy mongrel has no redeeming qualities - granted, this was after a copious amount of pee and poo had to be cleaned up off his floors).  There was another time when I was fostering him that he got away from Brian's yard in midtown.  We searched for him, and came across a Mexican family out on a walk who told us: yes, we saw Bandit.  Little black dog, red collar - some guy in a yellow and brown car picked him up and drove off with him.  WHAT???  My heart fucking sank.  My world got very very small.  We walked in the house to call Chain of Hope, not knowing what to do next.  I was sick.  Walk in the door and there comes Bandit trotting out from around the corner.  It was only about 15 min from when we discovered he was missing to when he was found, but that was one of the top moments of relief in my life.  Like one other time when I came "this close" to getting Tboned by a car when I was on my bicycle.  We took him to the dog park on Saturday of Memorial Day weekend and he went out of his way to go bark at some poor guy.  The guy held out his hand, Bandit sniffed it, then continued barking at him.  The guy shrugged his shoulders, turned around and walked off.  Only to be followed by an incessantly barking Bandit, saying "how dare you walk away when I'm barking at you!!"  I have loved that goddam dog from the first moment I saw him (when he was charging me, barking up a storm).  I fostered him a few weeks, then my friend from high school saw my pics of him on facebook and after some discussion, decided it was time for her husband and three awesome kids to meet him.  When they arrived, I let Bandit out, and he promptly ran right up to them as they are coming up the drive, barking up a storm.  It is one thing when a 70lb German Shepard or some such animal does that.  It is quite another when a floppy-eared, seal-eyed 30lb porky pig looking bundle of cuteness does it.  God I love that dog.  My first thought upon awakening Thursday was along the lines of "YAY!!!  Bandit comes to stay today!!!"  All in all, this was a fantabulous way to spend the first hours of my glorious Memorial Day weekend. 
     Friday I attacked the Fairway Fan - 11 hilly miles in the heat.  It was one of the few runs since my 100 miler (love it when that comes up) that I felt good.  My runs have been fairly miserable almost all of the time since February 4.  Most times, it is reminiscent of why I didn't run for most of my life.  I feel heavy and clunky, am slow, and working way too hard to barely keep up with other people (or now, with myself pre-100 miler).  It has not been fun in the least for me, hence the Summer of the Bike.  I've been finding myself looking for reasons to quit on my short runs that I used to do in my sleep because it is so hard.  Frustrating.  Not Friday though.  Friday's run was joyous, happy and free!  Back to Brian's for another cookout Friday night - filets and pineapple something brats, salad I concocted from SunFresh salad bar, corn on the cob, blueberry/strawberry shortcake for dessert, Sophia for company - the cherry on top?!?!  She was nearby hanging out in a coffee shop with no electricity at her own house.  And I looked cute - I remember after asking Brian if it was OK to invite her to dinner too I told him I looked so cute that I didn't want her to miss it.  It was a great night - spent with some top notch dogs, friends and food.
     Saturday I got up early to go to an 8am Pilates class (I can run 100 miles but this Pilates crap is kicking my ass abs), then it was back to Brian's for breakfast and dog park with Bandit, Elliot (my faithful hound) and Crazy Callie (Brian's dog, another COH rescue who I couldn't part with.  She was going to make me a foster flunkie, but I should have known Brian would fall head over heels with her too - they are a great team and she is transformed - when I first got her she would run out of the room if I walked in, she'd been treated really bad, kicked and hit.  Well, guess who is your bona fide happy dog now?!?!  It's been amazing/inspiring watching her be the best dog she can be!!).  I get the best foster dogs ever for realz.  Saturday night we hit the boat for some crab leg buffet action.  I like to go to the Isle of Crap 'cause it's the sleaziest.  I feel at home there.  No gambling though - first of all, the only $5 crap table was a no crap table and the cheapest black jack table was $10.  I spend $105.25 to get $100 out of the ATM (just rape me already!), then chicken out and we don't gamble.  I don't know what else to say -- I had a bad feeling, Brian said he didn't care either way and it was up to me and I got scared and bailed.  I prefer to believe that the $100 I got out of the ATM would have been lost, but there's that part of my brain that is convinced that I would have turned that $100 into $200.  I regret the things I didn't do much more than the things I did.  And I've done some pretty regrettable things, trust that.
     So Sunday finally rolls around.  Ever since I heard about Chain of Hope last fall, I knew I wanted to do Outreach with them.  Kate Quigley is the owner of Chain of Hope - check them out at www.chainofhopekc.org.  She writes a blog that you can find there too - I've read every entry and rarely am I dry-eyed by the end, whether they be tears of joy or tears of sadness.  They are the voice for these animals that have no voice, and the moment I heard about what they do I knew I wanted to be a part of it.  I finally went out with them on Sunday - we were in the Northeast for most of the day, driving down alleys looking for dogs, checking up on dogs Kate looks in on regularly, learning a lot.  Most of the dogs we came across are outside on a chain 24/7.  It was over 90 degrees on Sunday and just about every dog I saw was miserable.  Many with no food, no water.  We fill them up with food and water, talk to the owner if home, leave info if not, fly gel and fly bags to hang.  Fly gel is put on their ears - flies bite their ears and also other parts of their body raw, called fly strike.  I would be putting the fly gel on a dog's ears and their ear would just be coming off in my hands.  It was good to see some of the dogs that have been helped by COH - Kate has educated the owners and they do make progress, feeding them regularly, using tie-outs instead of chains,  giving them a doghouse in the shade, etc.  More often than not it was just heartbreaking to see the misery in the dogs' eyes, pleading you for help, so happy you are there.  I was really to busy to process much of anything during the day, and found myself kind of stunned.  A lot of doing without really thinking.  It would sink in later on.   When we got back from Outreach, I left with a new foster, Norman!!  He is a one-year old sheltie mix and I got another great one!!  He was chained on a front porch 24/7 and in bad shape when Kate found him.  She would watch his owners come home and see Norman begging them for attention and they would walk right by him into the house - no pat on the head, no nothing.  They are idiots.  Norman loves playing with other dogs - him and Callie go at it for about 30 min, rest for a few minutes, then repeat.  He is housebroken, except he poos on the floor during the night - we're working on that and I think we can nip that in the bud pretty quick.  As you can see, he is gorgeous.  And, not surprisingly, he loves any attention he gets.  I walk in my door then sit down to take off my shoes.  He gets right up on me, glues himself to me (puts every square inch of his body against me) and relishes all the ear rubs and good boy's and head rubs he gets.  Norman gives good love.  Goodbye miserable existence, hello happy dog!!!

I'm Norman!!  Gimme a belly rub!

   So Sunday was a big day and about to really blow up.  Fireworks at Union Station!!!  We took all the dogs.  Brian had a hold of El Dog and Callie.  I got Bandit and Norman.  We were a big hit with all the kids - Norman and Bandit especially were kid magnets.  At 9:30 the fireworks start and the dogs go ballistic for a good 10 seconds.  Then they calm down -- Elliot and Callie actually enjoyed the show, says Brian.  Bandit was completely spooked though and even though I had hold of his leash, he broke free and took off like a bullet, leash dragging behind.  I jump up and chase after him, bringing Norman along.  Bandit was headed due east in a straight line like a bat out of hell.  I face planted in the grass pretty quick in the midst of a throng of people - it was a good SMACKDOWN.  Right back up though.  I yelled "NO!!" when I saw him jump down a little wall and without a second's delay tear across Main. . .and then Grand.  I just knew something awful and tragic would  befall him if I didn't catch him.  I kept asking and people kept pointing "He went that way!!"  I was a couple of minutes behind him.  The last people that saw him were watching the fireworks from the balcony of their lofts on Union Hill.  They saw him run into the Union Hill Cemetery.  This guy (out with his dog) that lived there said he would keep an eye out for him since he lives right there.  Well, that's not enough.  I got into the cemetery with Norman and we ran all the way around in there, calling his name, searching for him.  Fireworks are booming all around me the entire time.  Then they stop.  I see the guy out there with a flashlight looking for Bandit.  I see a car driving around the cemetery -- it stops - it's the caretaker couple.  I tell them all about Bandit.  Then I go all the way back to Brian and give him Norman to take back to his place.  I go back to the cemetery to look more.  The caretakers are out to lock up the gates at 11:30.  Still no Bandit.  I start walking/running back to Brian's, totally out of my mind.
     I call Sophia.  I call Patty from Chain of Hope - Bandit only has his rabies tag on with their animal clinic number on it, so I'm hoping she can get ahold of the vet, as they will be closed the next day (Memorial Day).  She helps me calm down. .. a little.  Not really.  Brian sees me walking down Main and picks me up.  We go back to his place.  After a couple of minutes, we both go back out again.  I have to do SOMETHING!!  The caretaker told me there was another gate open 24/7 so I try to find it.  Instead, a couple of cops stop me and we all end up jumping the fence and looking more for him - I see their flashlights for awhile, then they leave.  I stay a bit longer, but eventually have to accept that it's dark, I've been around every part of the cemetery and haven't found him - what I'm doing is no longer productive.  So I head back to Brian's - he had been driving around looking for Bandit and just got home too.  Brian goes to bed - he needs sleep bad.  I can't sleep.  I stay out on the couch, making the dogs take turns being squeezed by me and crying in their fur - all they want to do is sleep too.  I try to watch tv - no go.  I try to read - no go.  I think how great a bottle of whiskey would be right fucking now.  Right after that I remember that I have a big bottle of nighttime cough medicine with alcohol in Brian's medicine cabinet.  Luckily right after THAT I remind myself that as much as I fucking want to really really bad, if I drink I'm no good to Bandit.  So instead I imagine all the awful things that are happening to Bandit.  Like he tried to jump the wrought iron gate around the cemetery, but his leash gets caught and he hangs himself.  Or he ran into the 'hood and got picked up by someone who is going to chain him up and abuse him his whole life.  He is terrified.  He is miserable.  He will never know joy or love or security or comfort again and it is all my fault.  I wake up Brian and cry and tell him how helpless I feel.  I wear myself out.  Bandit is all that is on my mind.  I think of how he was rescued, how we thought he was gone that one time and he was in the house and how he was saved my some wonderful neighbor of mine -- oh yeah - I left him out in my yard with Elliot when I did Outreach that day.  He got out somehow because when I came home from Outreach he was inside my house.  So someone saved his ass already that day.  I realize that Bandit has his own incredible Doggy God looking out for him, and think that maybe, just maybe, he's alright and we'll get him back safe and sound.  I know he's got a lot of people pulling for him.  After that I can sleep - it's about 2:30.
     I wake up right after 5am.  As soon as I see dawn breaking, me and Elliot and Norman go back out.  We park and our morning walk is around every inch of that cemetery - I never found the open gate, we were walking around the outside.  I saw a dozen places he could easily have gotten out under the fence and gone a dozen different directions.  The sun was up, it was a beautiful day, but I felt absolutely sick.  I don't know how people have kids.  I was absolutely out of my mind, beside myself, my world so small and terrifying -- all over a rotten little dog.  I saw my friend Erin the other day and told her all about Bandit.  She told me how one time her parents lost her in the subway and she was gone for 3 hours.  I feel a close kinship with Erin's folks - like we were in the war together.  I don't believe I was ever lost as a child - I remember we went to Germany when I was about 16 and were walking around Dusseldorf and I tried to get lost to teach my parents a lesson because they were not paying attention to me.  Except I never really got lost because I kept them in sight because I was such a scaredy cat and after like half an hour of tailing them from out of sight, no one noticed I was gone.  So I run up to them, yelling at them how something really bad could have happened to me and nobody would notice.  My mom and dad were both like - "Ummm....you're right here.  What is the emergency again?"  Fine - they got away scot free that time.  It was one of the last times that happened though.  I've managed to cause them copious amounts of grief and sorrow and loss for several years -- they haven't escaped unscathed.  All part of being the parents of the greatest kid ever.
     I go home.  I turn around half way home to go back, but turn around again.  He could be anywhere - driving around with Norman and Carsick Elliot isn't going to help anything.  I call all the 24 hr emergency vet places.  Wander around the house.  Put up a "lost" ad on KC Pet Connection.  Go to put a "lost" ad on Craigslist.  See this:
 

FOUND Medium Size Black Dog (28th and Gillham, KCMO)

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Date: 2012-05-28, 12:02AM CDT
Reply to: pgts5-3042036151@comm.craigslist.org ^{[Errors when replying to ads?]}

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Found near Union Hill / Union Station around 10:30pm on Sunday. Medium size black dog with white/black markings on belly and on nose. Has tags, but can't call the Vet until Tuesday due to Memorial Day. Found with matching collar and leash, running scared during the fireworks. To claim tell me what color the collar and leash are.

We're hoping to find his family soon! He keeps looking at the door for them.

• Location: 28th and Gillham, KCMO
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 3042036151

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It's him!! Is it him?  It's got to be him!!!  I shoot off an email real quick:

    ***My dog got spooked by the fireworks and ran off last night -- he was last seen going in Union Cemetery about 9:40pm.  Maybe this is him?  He has a Raytown Kennedy Animal clinic tag on -- red collar, red leash.  His name is Bandit.  CALL ME PLEASE!!!  I am sick over him - I love that rotten guy with all my heart!!!   My info is below - erica 913-271-3728.  Please call me either way --- thank you so much for posting this -- even if it's not my dog, you are a good Samaritan!!***

     I call Brian.  I call Sophia.  I call Patty at Chain of Hope.  I tell Elliot and Norman.  They are happy too, I can see.  I decide the person who wrote the ad is ignoring me so I send them another email (it is very long and repeats alot so I'm not going to include it -- this fucking thing is way too long as it is).  Just after I hit send my phone rings and some beautiful angel tells me yes, the dog has a Kennedy Vet Clinic tag on so I know for a fact it is Bandit.  She was watching fireworks from one of those balconies and saw him running around the cemetery all scared and went down to get him - she called to him and he squeezed through the gate and came right up to her!  So glad it was a she and not a he!!  She couldn't keep him in her apartment, so her parents took him home - I got her parent's address out in Greenwood, MO, google mapped it, took a Puerto Rican shower (spray on body spray) and a whore bath (wash face and private parts in sink) and took off to go pick him up.   By 9:30am, about 12 hours from when I had last seen him I had Bandit in my arms, licking my face, accidently biting my nose (he was super excited to see me too), and all was well in the world.  The lady came out and we talked -  she fed him some ham and peas and rice the night before (he had already eaten his dinner, plus a couple of the other dogs' dinners at 7:00) and he ate it all.  She made him eggs that morning to see if he would eat some, but he managed to tip the pan over off the stove and helped himself.  He didn't pee or poo in their house though - went potty outside like a good boy.  He couldn't have been saved by a better family (yet again).  She told me how she was holding him the night before and he would start to doze off, then jerk awake and cry/whine all scared, like "I'm not home.  Where is my home?".  Her husband came out after a few minutes - Bandit ran up to him, barking his head off.  Shocker.
     I still had the comforter we used to sit on to watch fireworks in the backseat.  Bandit curled up on it and was asleep by the time I got out of the driveway (it was one of those long, out in the country driveways).  He snores a little.  He couldn't have been more beautiful and precious if he was my own kid, I'm sure (but am probably wrong - we will never know as I have promised never to spawn).  We got home.  Ahhhhh.  It's surprising how quickly I got back to acting normal.  The dogs played around while I cleaned the house.  The smile that had been on my face since I found him hadn't gone anywhere.  By the time I was done, this is what they were up to:

Zzzzzzzz

I sat down to talk to Sophia on the phone and rehash everything.  Turns out she lost her dog Puccini that morning out on some trails (but found him pretty quick).  Bitch, please - people always trying to steal my thunder. Brian beeped in, wanting to go to the pool.  I said no.  I didn't want to leave Bandit - he was getting picked up soon by Emily and family on their way back home.  But I changed my mind -- I felt weird, didn't want to be alone and hanging with Brian sounded like just what I needed.  When we got to the pool, I called Emily.  I was so glad to be making this call and not another kind of call.  I wasn't super good friends with her in high school, but we certainly knew each other - had friends in common, classes in common, played softball together, that kind of stuff.  Just like people don't want to mess with me (for good reason, although I've shown great strides in abating behaviors such as screaming someone is a cunt skank whore in public and/or destroying their property), I didn't want to have to say "Hey Emily -- well it's great you just adopted this dog and we got to see each other again and I know you've spent a lot of time and energy on him already and I'm sure your kids just love him to pieces, but I lost him.  No more dog for you.  Sorry - hope you had a good trip - see ya around!" No part of that would go over well.  I'm sure she has a lot more class than I do, but I'm also sure she can hurt a bitch if called for.  Doesn't matter.  Didn't have to do that.  I told her the whole story.  After she got him from the house and saw he was ok, she even joked about it.  Said I could petsit for him again (I really hope she meant that), but she'd be keeping her kids in someone else's care.  Fine by me.
     So that's my Memorial Day weekend, 2012.  Beware the rotten dog.