Yes, this ish really does happen to people

We need to start taking video to document this nonsense. I am pretty sure Katy said her aunt is coming to the race solely for that purpose. Great. And she is buying a flip for our journey along the way. Even better. Who doesn't want to see evidence of our deliriousness come hour 20 of the race when they are asking me to eat a pound of raw onions, search the bottom of a mucky lake for pennies, or set Katy on fire and pee on her? (Yes, my dear Katy, I would pee on you if you were on fire.) Watch out, we are going live.

Katy falls. I fall A LOT. You would be shocked if I told you that I took ballet as a child, dabbled with gymnastics at one point and eventually became a collegiate volleyball player after witnessing me walk down the street or a set of stairs. I have made falling an artform, most graceful some would say. I trip on the volleyball lines that are painted on the floor, the sand monsters on the beach attack me, I tangle myself and pull the lines out of the sand on numerous occasions while diving for volleyballs, I am notorious for epic flip flop blowouts (my superman dive in the dining hall my first year of college was BEYOND EMBARRASSING), I size up statues from a distance and tell myself to swing wide and get around it, yet I still manage to run into them. A twig, a rock, a grain of sand, a crack in the floor? I go down. Big tree fall hard. Bugs swarm around me, birds poop on me, caterpillars fall out of trees to land on my forehead. I could go on forever, but the point is, I am klutzy and silly things happen to me. All the time.

It's Friday night in lovely Corona Del Mar (yes, this post is a day late). It's the ideal evening at scenic Look Out Point. Friends are meeting, couples are snuggling on blankets, coolers full of snacks and adult beverages. Everyone has a red solo cup in hand while admiring the stellar sunset view of the peninsula, watching the yachts sail in and out of the harbour, the duffy boats cruise around from dock to dock, and ever so often you hear the bark of the seals that are basking in the sun on the rocks. Picturesque. This is where I enter the picture. The klutzy girl wearing a 40#weighted backpack climbing up and down the stairs that start at the top of Look Out Point. I had already hiked around town for an hour and a half today wearing that heavy pack, but I couldn't resist the gorgeous weather. I figure 20 trips up and down the stairs, no biggie, then move on to the big hill for some sprints. I huffed and puffed, grunted and sweat, bobbed and weaved through the oncoming traffic of people heading down to the water. By the time I would get to the top, I felt like everyone was staring at me, hoping it would be my last trip. Nope, I kept trudging along. I was distracting, and not in a relaxing, beautiful way. I kept shifting my uncomfortable pack, re-adjusting the weight and tried to make each round faster. Well, little did I know that with each little shift of my pack, the zipper would open just a small bit. Why didn't an onlooker tell me this? No joke, as I took my second to last step up on the 20th round, my bag decided to open itself and shed it's contents....two 15# dumbbells, one 10# dumbbell and The Purpose Driven Life tumbled noisily down all the stairs and nearly took me with it. Now I was really distracting to everyone. I had to detour from the stairwell, climb through some brush and bushes down a steep hill to retrieve my lost dumbbell. More training for me! But definitely not what happens at Look Out Point on a sunny evening in Southern California.

Later that night at dinner, a little girl that was playing with her headband, shot it across the restaurant like a rubber band and it hit me smack in the middle of the forehead. Why wouldn't it?

Katy just sent me a link documenting last years race......Gave me goosebumps, made me want to throw up, and got me excited to get out for another workout. Time to go throw some weight around and carry my bucket full of gravel