06 October 2011


I sent my dad an email yesterday asking if he could call me at my office so I could have a Chicago panic attack. So he rang me up and I proceeded to talk quickly at him for about three minutes without taking a breath, mostly about my gear-check questions, and then he said:

"Why don't I just hold your post-race clothes for you?"*

I started to explain that that wasn't really what I MEANT, that I would have all this OTHER gear and then I stopped and actually thought about it and ... oh. Um. I might not even need to do the gear-check thing, here's why.

Things I will be carrying:
- gels
- nuun
- water bottle
- iPod (my 2005 shuffle, word)
- throw-away sweats

The end. Gels and nuun go into my Spibelt, ipod goes into my water bottle pocket, throw-away sweats get thrown away. WHAT. IS LEFT. TO CHECK. Do you see what I am saying to you??

Except not confusing, because I AM JUST A MORON. Running the race may not kill me (though it may, my hamstring still hurts), but getting to the starting line in one piece is likely to do me in. Headdesk. Pray for my soul. Etc.

*Why no, post-race clothing had not occurred to me at all, thanks for asking. FML.


  1. Your dad rocks. Have him hold your flip flops, bc I'm sure you'll be wanting to get the hell out of those running shoes!

  2. +10 for the Futurama reference! Best wishes for a happy Marathon. B-)