I’ll start this blog with a disclaimer, I love my parent’s. They did a solid job raising all of my siblings and me. But providing love, shelter, dedication, happiness, water and food, will only take you so far. This story starts just outside of Seattle, WA in late July 2017. My parents, my sister, her husband Mook (no, that’s not his real name but he so Mook it should be), and I had just finished running the Jack and Jill Marathon. This was a beautiful race, until I realized my sister kicked my ass. I’m not bitter. I’m really not. It’s just an occurrence that brings me shame and will forever haunt me. Never mind that part of the story, the true story starts at the 6:01 hour mark of the race. My parents (who I remind everyday they are closer to 70 than 60) had just crossed the finish line, 29 minutes before the cutoff. All hail!! We were all sitting around basking in our greatness, especially my smug sister. Ok, Ok I’ll move on. I mean it just really gets my goat. Anyhow, after a few minutes I asked my mom, when and where was her next marathon. She emphatically stated “never”. This was her and my dad’s second marathon and according to my lying ass mom this was it. She was going back to being the queen of the 5k. I should have known I was essentially talking to someone who had just woke up with a massive hangover and announced they were done drinking. I believed her though, I believed the same woman who lied to me about Santa Claus, the Easter bunny and about me being special. This was my error.
A few months passed. I was starting to plot my training for my first Ultra. I found the race. It would be a 51K trail race in my beautiful home of Las Vegas, on November 3rd. That’s when my phone rang. It was my dad. We talk on a weekly basis, usually solving all the world’s problem’s along with deciding who the Bears should draft and a round up of who has died from back home. At the tail end of our conversation, he put me on speaker phone to include my mother in the conversation. That’s when they dropped the bomb. No, not the divorce bomb or the you’re not really our kid bomb, this was much worse. These two Judas’ had signed up for an Ultra Marathon. Are you freaking kidding me, Mrs. “never” running a marathon again had fooled me. She did inform me she technically didn’t lie. She said that she said no more marathon’s, this was an Ultra. Ugh, I hate loop holes. As I sat in disbelief from this news. I still held out some hope though, maybe mine was happening first and I could at least talk crap for a little while. I inquired on the date of this unholy event, “November 3rd”. NOOOOOOOOO! Where is it taking place I asked, “Chattanooga, TN”. That’s Eastern freaking time zone. Their Ultra will start 3 hours before mine, they will be half way done before I have even started. This is bull crap and I told them as much. They are my parent’s, they are supposed to let me beat them in basketball, let me find the Easter eggs, and especially run the first freaking Ultra. Instead, they put a dagger in my heart and in my back, whatever happened to loyalty.
You probably think I’m being a whiny, petulant and ungrateful child right now. Well, you are right. As they were describing the race to me I was trying to figure out how to rectify the situation in my own mind. How can I fix this act of betrayal? Then it dawned on me. How had all people in history who knew they were overmatched and the lesser of two opponents done it? You fall back on the greatest strategy ever conceived “If you can’t beat them, join them”. Chattanooga here I come!