It happens all the freaking time. You register for a race. You train. You do every.single.thing in your dang power to prepare for the big day.
And then? Things happen. What kind of things? Things that runners feel deep within the depths of their souls.
First you don't get the freebies you were promised. Or maybe there is a course change. Your fellow racers don't understand the concept of “faster paces line up at the front” and you get pushed all the way to the back and now you know there's no way you'll win your age group.
Look. We have all been there. These are the feels.
You picking up your race swag and finding out they don’t have your T-shirt size.
The audacity.
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When you're finally ready to go number two and you choose a porta potty with a person in it.
Put that away. No one wants to see that.
Your face when you’re at the start and Grandpa Herb is pushing a stroller full of fifteen children lines up in front of you.
Listen gramps, this here area is for us fast folks.
You when a spectator tells you you’re almost finished. At mile one.
Oh hell to the no.
When you get passed by that dude who is legit wearing a CD player blasting the “Space Jam” soundtrack.
And what the heck is that giant contraption on your waist?
You seeing another runner wander out of the woods with one sock.
And I know you pooped.
When a volunteer hands you a cup and you give yourself a gatorade shower.
Oh! The agony.
You when you place fourth in your age group. Just behind Grandpa Herb.
That face you made in your race photo.
How do you even do that expression?
You, after the race, checking your bank account and realizing you spent all your $ on race fees.
There’s always a solution.
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