Wednesday, May 27, 2015

The Party Culture of Born to Run Ultras

The golden hills of East Creek Ranch
Exactly two weeks after the Swagon was unloaded from Badwater Salton Sea 2015, it was cram packed again with an inflatable sofa, a camp kitchen/tiki bar, disco chandelier lights and red cups for the keg.

It was time for my annual pilgrimage to the place where my ultra running tribe takes up residence for about four days. A little spot in the golden hills of Los Olivos where we arrive, detach from the grid, and connect to something bigger and more meaningful. 

Oh. And we run.

The Born To Run Ultra Marathons are way more than a race. It's been more accurately described as a running festival, but even that falls short of the true experience. Maybe that's just me, but I would venture to say that anyone who has made BTR their annual tradition has pulled back the layers to reveal something much more significant.

Born To Run 100k 2012
(Photography by Larry Gassan)
I first experienced the lure of the East Creek Ranch back in 2012 (you can read about my experience here) when I challenged myself with my first 100k. I entered the gate of the ranch a solo runner on a quest to find something transcending within the long distance. I was in search of some raw form of enlightenment, expecting to find it buried deep within miles of fatigue and pain, but I never hit that "big picture" moment while running. In fact, I never really pushed into pain or fatigue like I expected. Don't get me wrong, I learned a significant amount about myself and my own capabilities, but  I never arrived to that wide, open space where things just seemed in perspective.

My first year at the Born To Run Ultras
But something else unexpected happened.

Perspective happened but not within the confines of my own singular experience. I discovered human connection on a grander scale. It came from all sides of me - a connection that grows wider with every year.

But I guess spending four days on a ranch with more than 600 other ultra runners, some kind of revelation is bound to happen.

That first year, it began with Alex, the random dude I picked up at the Bart Station in Walnut Creek for carpool. We shared stories and life experiences on our trip down to Los Olivos. I got to see life from a younger and, oddly enough, wiser angle. 

My running buddy Anthony rocking the sport kilt
Then there was Anthony, an active duty marine with a wife and little girl at home who ran with me for fourty miles. We swapped training and diet ideals, and shared mind blowing experiences of the birth of our babies.

I will never forget Flint, Maria, and Caleb who I heard cheering for me as I came through the last of the pink and yellow loops. Their genuine energy and encouragement felt like I had family there just for me.

Then Crista, who I didn't really speak much to that first year, but told me after I crossed the finish line somewhere in the ballpark of 15 hours later that she was cheering for me because we shared the same name.

Flint, Alex, Caleb, and Patrick
And last but not least Patrick Sweeney. A dude I'd just met in New York City several months before my 100k while running the New York City Barefoot Run. He was the only familiar face I had any recognition of as I drove onto the ranch that weekend. He offered to share a camping spot with me and Alex. Then sitting in the dark, back at the campsite, in my post 100k disbelief he also generously offered to make me ramen noodles with avacado. A simple, but very kind act of sharing. My belly was hungry and I had little energy to feed myself more than just a beer at that point. His thoughtful and caring nature was very much appreciated.

Over the years I've piled on more human connections, memories, and experiences to even list here...The Clemens brothers and their State of Beer flag, Graham from Scotland whom I will share an annual traditional wee dram of whiskey, Brahm who arrived solo and offered to bring a keg for the chill zone last year...
This shirt cracked me up

Funny how there's a common thread of alcohol here. 

I won't deny we love to party at Born To Run.

But maybe it's the alcohol that allows each of us to break through those social barriers, let go a little, and connect in a human way. Ultra running is the catalyst, but as ultra runners, and as humans in general, I think we are all looking for the path that plugs us in to something larger than ourselves. Whether we are looking for those moments in the solitude of the trail or surrounded by the smiles of hundreds of others like ourselves.

Post Beer/Whiskey mile party
Clint, Adam, Matt, and me
Yeah. We party hard. We run hard too. Even for the beer miles. There seems to be a symbiotic relationship between the two states - depleting our bodies while at the same time recharging our souls amongst our brothers and sisters. There is an endless supply of enthusiasm at an event like Born To Run and serious competition is almost non-existent. We run with each other recognizing what we have in common, not against each other for what we don't. The running culture of BTR is rooted in letting go and having fun, not in winning or placing. In fact, there is no other place where that culture is more amplified than at Born To Run. I know of no other event that also hosts a race distance of 0.0k where people sit down amongst each other, share their stories, and drink beer.

If that doesn't exemplify the chill, fun loving, relaxed atmosphere of our running culture I don't know what does.

The party at Born To Run Ultras
The culture of trail and ultra runners
After crewing for Badwater Salton Sea the contrast in running cultures has become even more obvious to me. There are no two races that could be more different.

I can't tell if it's completely a NorCal versus SoCal thing, or a road versus trail thing. After all, Born To Run could arguably be considered a SoCal event and really, it's a unique event in and of itself.

But, I firmly believe you can detect running culture at the start line of a race. There's a big difference between a race that has a line-up of expensive running gear versus little to nothing and whiskey socks.

Beer Mile Start
(Photo courtesy Kelly Maggie Akyuz via Matt's Camera)
And although the culture at Born To Run is all party, I can honestly say that as a runner I take that party to every race and so do most of my friends. It's the only time a bunch of us can get outside together and celebrate living, breathing, and connecting. Sadly, it was the one thing I really missed while training for my longer distance races since my runs were never very long and mostly hard work.

Happy girl
Competitive culture completely misses the link to that human connection. That's not to say that as trail runners we are not competitive. For example, the SingleTrack Running Racing Team's stellar performance at Badwater Salton Sea may have even placed them in the top three finish if it hadn't been for our crew's alleged "party" behavior which got us into trouble and set our runners back for time.

But that "party" behavior is how we roll. For some it's winning, but for us, it's the adventure and stoke along the way that keeps running alive. We don't just celebrate running at the finish line. We celebrate at the start, the middle, and especially the finish. Every step is a celebration. And when shit gets hard, the party is still there, waiting for the comeback, because sometimes the joy of overcoming is stoke enough.
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Monday, May 18, 2015

SingleTrack Running's Badwater Salton Sea Ultra

Salton Sea - Below sea level
So I guess once you embrace the sulk and the mope over adventures thwarted something magical happens. Adventures appear out of nowhere. Shit just starts to happen. And I get a message like this from my friend Bill, a SingleTrack Racing Team member, regarding the 2015 Badwater Salton Sea three man team race:

"Hey Krista!!  So I've been waiting to extend a formal invitation to you because I didn't know how things were going to shake with our crew situation. But I want to officially ask you to be part of our Badwater crew with Clint and Maggie we would be so excited to have you! In Paulo's words it would be 'crazyfantastic'"

Crazyfantastic? That's quite a compliment. But, I'll admit I'm partial to unauthorized vocabulary that punches grammar and punctuation rules in the face. 

SOLD.
SingleTrack Running Racing Team
Paulo, Ben, and Bill

I felt honored that the guys wanted to recruit me to be part of their crew team. I had never crewed down at Badwater before so I was a total newb. Pretty sure all three of us were newbs at crewing in this sort of a race - mostly road and little trail with our vehicle being the sole support for our team. But the guys had no idea (or maybe they did) at the level of enthusiasm they had just signed on for, especially with Maggie and I both being on the team. 

Together. 

We've been known to spend the equivalent of an ultra finish time just to "set up" an aid station. Our aid stations are "destination experiences" usually with a nighttime clubbing atmosphere that includes a chill lounge, lots of lights, loud music, disco balls, and plenty of party. We had big plans for this crewing adventure. Not only were we going to make sure our runners got to the finish line, but we were gonna motivate the shit outa them (and everybody else) along the way.

So we packed up the ice chest, umbrella, pop-up canopy (yes... the pop-up), table, chairs, solar lights, glowsticks, wigs, pirate flags, water guns, cowbells, megaphone, and piñata.

All the important shit.
Just a little "reorganization"

Then we crammed a few personal items in the Swagon and drove south to Santa Monica, where after a couple of chill days we met up with the rest of the team, Bill, Ben, and Paulo (the runners - and my buddies from my Speedgoat adventure) plus our final crew member, Clint.

Everyone had congregated at Bill's place for our caravan to Borrego Springs Resort where we were to attend the pre-race orientation. But not before our pre-pre-race orientation beer. It's about the carb loading, right?

And jeezuz!! I had never in my life personally witnessed the magnitude of matching as I did that day. It was only to be rivaled by the amount of lycra, spandex, performance, and reflective gear that exploded at the start line the following morning. I slapped my forehead when I realized that was why Paulo had asked me to bring my SingleTrack Running Racing Team shirt to this race. I'm hardly the matchy-matchy type but I bucked up and borrowed one of the guys shirts for the team photo.

Ben, Paulo, and Bill posing for group shots
After orientation it occurred to us that we needed to get our runners to the start line in the morning. In the Swagon. The Swagon - our mobile aid station warehouse (a crammed Mazda MPV minivan) was in desperate need of some strategic organization. I think it would have been easier to solve world hunger at that point. But as if that wasn't puzzle enough, we also had to deliver Paulo's car to the finish line 50 miles away where it would be close to our end point accomodations. So while the runners drank beers and went hot tubbing, our crew began crewing. Strapping, tying, shoving, wedging every little piece of enthusiasm into whatever space it fit. Then we caravanned again to deliver a vehicle to the finish line.

About four hours and 100 miles of driving later everything was sorted and organized and the Swagon was ready for race start. The runners had already gone to bed by the time we made it back from the finish line at Palomar Mountain around 9pm.

It was a VERY tight fit for race morning.
Ben - The tallest of the team crammed into the Swagon
amongst backpacks, ice chests, a piñata, and a road cone.

But we all made it to the start line in one piece. 
More importantly, we were all able to dislodge ourselves from the overpacked van.
Paulo exiting our rubix cube on wheels
Ben and Bill walk to find race start
Funny how we got there only a half hour early and the start line wasn't even set up. I was wondering if we were even in the right place. But if we weren't, neither was anyone else and there were quite a few people there. We walked down to the edge of the Salton Sea where the humidity carried a foul stench in the air which smelled like what I imagine to be a fisherman's toilet. Looking down we could see the "sand" was created of tiny bits of crushed fish carnage. We assumed that the race would start somewhere in the general vicinity. Did the race director forget that he was hosting a race?

Hmmmmm.

Fish corpse
Then two random people show up, shove a couple flags in the ground and from out of nowhere the race director appears, climbs up on a ladder and shoots a gazillion photos for Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Flickr and a plethora of other social reasons.

Wow. This shit has serious coverage. The word is officially out.

I think dude spent way more time advertising his race than making the runners feel like they were participating in one.

Our boys with big smiles on the far left
But that didn't stop our runners from smiling. They were prepared and ready to go.

The Swagon - The official Party Van
(Photo courtesy Kelly Maggie Akyuz)
I don't even remember how the race started. Everybody just took off. And then our crewing adventure began. The piñata made it's way to the top of our vehicle, the hawaiian leis were strung, the cowbell was ready, and the megaphone police siren was turned on. Awwwwyeah. The party van was in full crew mode and we were gonna crew us some runners!

As we passed runners on our way to our first crew stop, we cheered every single one on. LOUDLY with megaphone.

Crewing duties
(Photo courtesy Kelly Maggie Akyuz)
"Oh Yeah... the piñata popo are gonna pull you over for going too fast!"
(Cuz we were the official piñata police.)
"Looking good, runners!! You're looking so hot!"
(Cuz it was damn hot out there and they looked it.)
"SingleTrack Running Sexiness!! Yeah Baby! Show us your tittays!"
(Cuz our team didn't mind being sexually harassed)
I'm pretty sure the competitors in this race had never seen the likes of us at a race like this before... EVER. We got lots of smiles and motivated lots of runners besides our own. We wanted to make sure this race was FUN because running 81 miles through the desert is no joke and as it turned out not always a party. But I'm pretty sure FUN was in our job description when our team asked us to crew for them. HOW COULD WE NOT DELIVER? 

I'm also pretty sure there will be a rule outlawing the use of megaphones with police sirens next year.

Our super awesome mobile aid station
From the time the race started our crew had few spare moments to ourselves. We prepped every other stop like a full aid station so the runners could get in and get out as soon as possible. And as soon as our runner's came into eyesight we went into hyperdrive filling handhelds, prepping ice bandanas and buffs, making mental notes of our runner's health status' and next aid needs. We were able to surprise them with ice cream sandwiches, Mountain Dew (sadly it was diet) and special lunch snacks, which made them happy, even though the miles and especially the heat were starting to take their toll.

Captain Clint - ARRRRRRGH!
We also commandeered an old train container for our full stop Pirate themed aid station. We knew the runners would be coming off the hardest climb of the race and we thought we would surprise them with a treat. But, what was taking them so long?

So we started walking, side by side, down the road with Clint in the middle holding our biggest pirate flag. We were looking totally rogue and badass.

Clint had a gut feeling something was wrong. He had just seen the race director drive by with a more than disappointed look on his face.

Our commandeered container
pirate aid station
Suddenly, we saw our runners. They looked like they were in good shape. We screamed through the megaphone and were super excited to see them. We did our usual loud shenanigans, but Paulo had to politely interrupt us.

The race director had apparently given them a warning and was about to slap a pretty hefty penalty on them.

WHAT?

Apparently, rumor was spread that our crew was drunk and out of control at one of our stops. We were clearly a hazard on the course and were breaking a very significant no drinking rule.

I will own the out of control bit. We were having fun. Being loud and obnoxious is just how we roll. But we certainly weren't drunk. There was just way too much responsibility required on course and with our runners to make sure they were properly taken care of.

Arrrrrgh mateys!!
Apparently there was even alleged proof.

We were caught red-handed with liquor in our hands posing for pirate shots and our runners paid for it. Their option at this point was to drop a cone where the runners were, drive us to the finish line, drop our alleged drunken asses off, then return to the marked spot and finish the race either on their own or with a new crew.

Valuable time ticked away as we made it back to our container to brainstorm solutions. Our crew was distracted by our own stupidity and the fact that no one had bothered to find out if, in fact, we were drunk and incapable of driving. 

Then the race director, Chris, shows up. Taking the opportunity to explain our situation gave us renewed hope that our runners would be able to continue. Paulo respectfully discussed our tragic situation, Clint passed a breath test, and I handed over all our alcohol to Chris... even the good gin.

Getting back their mojo
(
Photo courtesy Kelly Maggie Akyuz)
The game was back on!!

But the guys had lost a lot of time and we, the crew, just had our wind taken out of our sails. We all felt heavy and quite frankly a little confused at how all this went down. 

Despite being deflated, we were determined not to let it affect us or our ability to crew our runners. Bill was on the fence about quitting and had been struggling with dehydration issues for a while. I was a little concerned he was getting ready to give up his position on the team, but after a ten minute recovery at one of our stops, some hot soup, and some extra attention by our crew, he pushed on and found his second wind. 


Paulo got cranky but remained strong and steady with a bad case of finish line fever while Ben was on his way to effortlessly completing his longest ultra ever. I think ice cream sandwiches were Ben's secret weapon.

The moon beamed down brightly on a fairly clear night as we slowly climbed to the top of Palomar Mountain. I could tell our runners were pushing to finish. They spent less time at our aid stops as we sneakily put a little more miles between them to push them to the finish sooner. 

We finally met our runners at the finish line garage after 19:10 hours of stinky sea desert running.

SingleTrack Running Racing Team
crossing the finish line in 4th place overall
SingleTrack Running Racing Team and crew

A garage?

Yes. A garage... where they ran through tape held up by the team in front of them because I guess all the Badwater Salton Sea volunteers had gone to bed.

Oh well. 

We were super proud of our guys! We tried not to be too annoying at the finish line (I know we weren't the race director's favorites - or maybe we were??) so we whooped and hollared in lieu of using the megaphone. Our guys were pretty happy too. They should be. They finished with an overall 4th place. They totally put the badass in Badwater Salton Sea. Our crew? Well we just put the "bad" in Badwater.

And we got all our alcohol back for our much needed celebration at our finish line accommodations.

SingleTrack Running Rebels morning beer celebration.
It's how we roll.
 
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Monday, April 6, 2015

The Year of the Sulk and Mope

Taking a break from life to host
 a "Chill Lounge" at Way Too Cool 50k
Oh man. It seems life has taken me for a ride lately and I'm just getting off to run back in line. I've neglected my writing in pursuit of earning a living lately, which isn't normally a bad thing, but there needs to be balance and I do notice that I'm beginning to get itchy. I need to get back into this writing thing. Life is starting to spill over and I need something to catch all the splashes. So now that Blogger hasn't made me invisible and my Saucy McRibs are off the censoring chopping block, let me just purge a bit...

The grand ultra plan this year (one of my biggest bucket list items I have been waiting to do) didn't work out. That was supposed to be a trip to the Copper Canyons to run in the Ultra Caballo Blanco 50 miler. I enrolled in an online class to learn Spanish, put together an ultra "file" on the race to collect various info and notes (yeah... I was unusually organized for this) and I had my fingers ready to pull the trigger on airline/taxi/train/shuttle tickets. And then, with my husband accompanying me on this adventure, we couldn't finagle childcare.

So that dream died this year.

I moped and sulked. I don't run just for the sake of running. Running is just an excuse for whatever adventure lies beneath the surface. This was my opportunity and it faded into dust, but as it turns out, maybe it wasn't the year for me anyway. Due to some unfortunate events which happened in close proximity to the race a difficult decision was made by race officials to cancel the race in order to ensure the safety of the runners. So, at least for this year, maybe I wasn't meant to go. I still hope that I can make it down there in the future.

So then there was talk between me and a good friend of mine about doing the John Muir Trail from Whitney to Yosemite. I was stoked. It has been years since I backpacked into the backcountry and here was an opportunity to explore and navigate through some extraordinary landscape, sleep under the stars, challenge myself, and recharge my life - a life that has been discharging in a slow trickle since my father died and I assumed new responsibilities in my newly reversed role caring for, supporting, and nurturing my own mother in her own grief. It hasn't been easy this last year. It's been a full-on energy suck with plenty more downs than ups and there's been too many days where I've felt like a trapped bird with clipped wings. Way too many days.

As it turns out, the JMT adventure will not happen either for reasons I'm not quite clear on.

So more sulking and more moping. It seems this has become the year of sulk and mope. But I'm over that disappointment too. I've got my Born To Run adventure coming up in May which I refuse to give up no matter what. That's a very special race for me. A race that takes me back to my first real deal ultra, a 100k through the hills of the East Creek Ranch in Los Olivos where I arrived not knowing a single soul or my own limitations. The people I met there were genuine, supportive, and by the end of my experience, like family. I look forward to this event every year. It has become my default recharge and decompression from the crap life has launched at me lately. I go there with full intention of saying fuck you to the shitty and embrace the chill with similar minded folk. Its all about the happy there.

So other than the Born To Run Ultra in May (and possibly a naked run sometime in the future) I'm pretty much goal-less with little motivation these days to run, to write... to do much else but go to the gym. It's a strange space. I'm sorta in float mode now just waiting to see what will land in my lap. I hope I get an opportunity for a new and exciting adventure soon. As long as it's trajectory doesn't hit me in the head on the way, I'm good.
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Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Behind The Thick Red Curtain - The Fate Of My Blog

Possible blog censorship. Like my McRibs?

WOW. I take a three month (ok that could have been more than three) writing hiatus and come back to my blog to see that the world is not round but flat and that WHA??? my blog is on the censorship chopping block? Is this true? According to blogger...

"On March 23rd, Blogger will no longer allow certain sexually explicit content." 
I kinda felt like they were pointing the finger at me.

And this...
"If your existing blog has sexually explicit or graphic nude images or video, your blog will be made private after March 23, 2015. No content will be deleted, but private content can only be seen by the owner or admins of the blog and the people who the owner has shared the blog with."
So is this a bad time to post my naked vacation pics?

I guess what this means is... my blog could likely become private very soon. You won't be able to read my nifty little posts or see my Saucy McRibs, or my husband's ass, or those hot naked athletes, or even read about my masturbation adventures - sorry - there were no naked pictures to go with that post.

The saddest thing about this? My public writing space - the space that held me accountable for a lot of what I had to say could be shoved behind a symbolic thick red curtain that says "Perverts Only."

OK. I'll admit to being a little pervy from time to time, but this space has been therapy for me over the years. It's been a place where I could take a risk, push outside my comfort zone, and reveal more than just my thoughts and boring opinions. By publishing my writing and sometimes my photos (for example my bikini photo and Saucy Mcrib shot) to the public sphere, it has forced me into some serious personal contemplations which would often result in some inner discovery and ultimately personal growth. Yeah. If that sounds meaningful, it's because it is.

Admitting in writing that you're going through some shit that could possibly be akin to a midlife crisis is not easy if you know it can be read by anybody in the world. Posting a topless picture of yourself (albeit censored by Saucy McRibs) when your least favorite part of your body is your boobs is a risk when you know just anyone can google "McRib" and get your naked topless shot in all its glory. Even though I censored that shit myself, it was an exercise in acceptance to publish it to the world.

So I guess only time will tell what happens to this blog and this public space beyond March 23rd. I still have more to say, more adventures to share, more naughtiness to post about. I haven't stopped discovering and I refuse to give up my public platform to do that. Hopefully I won't have to. I guess I'll just keep ya'll posted.
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Thursday, December 4, 2014

Wha? You Found Me With That? And another Top 10 List...

Never run when carrying anything
helium inflated and shaped like a penis.
I like to look at my online traffic stats from time to time. It's nerdy entertainment and since I'm like 95% weinerdog it satisfies my inner geek. I want to know where you people are and how you got here on my blog. I'm nosy like that. 

But it's not like I wanna know exactly where you live in a creepy, stalky kinda way - ok, maybe a little bit - but I promise all my stalking will be limited to Google. I won't actually get in my car, drive to your house, knock on your door, and offer you candy. Unless you've got whiskey, then I might invite myself in for a drink.

So, on occasion, I look at the search terms and phrases used to find my blog and most of the time I just end up shaking my head.

You people are tweaked.

Like when I see the search term Dead people. Wha? Really? Uh. I really don't know what to say. You found my blog with that?

Then there's the phrase Wedgie Archive. Yeah. I'm not even sure where to find this archive of wedgies. Was this the 2011 panty archive? Cuz I'll admit to talking maybe a little too much about my panties - and I'll admit it's very likely I mentioned wedgies - but an archive? Of uncomfortable flossing? Yeah. Let me go look that up right now.

And what's up with stupid naked people? Who are you calling stupid? Sounds like smack talk to me. Hey, Google. Please make an app that smacks people in the head for typing stupid phrases.


My perfect naked Saucy McRibs..
And to the person who found my blog by typing in perfect naked boobs... THANK YOU. I know they had Saucy McRibs censoring them, but that topless shot was for reals. And yes... they may be petite, but they are beautiful and perky and I hope to keep them like that for at least a few more years.

And then there's the search phrase:
Never run when carrying anything h
You know, this just kills me. Google shortened the h-word so I can't see the rest of the phrase. This tragically leaves vocabulary to my discretion, which, is a really bad idea. No. A really, really, bad idea. Besides having a mind that camps out on top of cardboard in the gutter 80% of the time, I have a knack for butchering language and grammar. If it has rules I will purposefully (or accidentally) not only break them but shatter them into millions of little, tiny, nonsensical pieces. I will slice and dice that shit and make it whatever the hell I want cuz I can. I just did.

I've decided to shamelessly try and interpret the rest of the h-word search phrase based on what I already know about my audience. And since it seems, for now anyway, the majority of my readers are in the 25-34 year old male range I have to think like a 25-34 year old dude in order to even remotely come close.

But I'm not a dude. I am the proud owner of a soft taco. I will have to try my best. 

So here's my top ten list of
"h-word" things not to do while running:
1. Never run when carrying anything hanging off your nipples. (Or hanging off any other loose and swingy bit on your body.)
2. Never run when carrying anything hella stabby.

3. Never run when carrying anything helium inflated and shaped like a penis.

4. Never run when carrying anything hipsters wouldn't carry.

5. Never run when carrying anything hoochie-approved and ready for Vegas.
(Not recommended. At least keep it off The Strip. Unless you need a job.)
6. Never run when carrying anything hamsters with sharp teeth will nibble on. (Or at least avoid squirrels with extreme jumping skills.)
7. Never run when carrying anything half-assed and high. (Duh.)
8. Never run when carrying anything hot and pokey. (Duh again. Didn't you ever listen to your mama? You don't need Google for that.)

9. Never run when carrying anything heavy and dead. (Especially dead.)

10. Never run when carrying anything hogs can bite.
(Just stay away from all wild animals.)
As for the other terms and phrase I've found on my blog lately, they amuse me, but I must confess... I'm guilty as charged. They found me.
  • look at my naked ass
  • pool noodle sex toy
  • naked fitness girls
  • cameltoe runner
  • skipping rope fail
  • wha zap
  • jogging orgasm 
  • nude athletic women
  • running topless
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Monday, November 24, 2014

Finding Chocolate in My Pants - A Body Butter Inspiration

Uh. Whaaa?
So the other day I was changing to get ready to go to the gym and as I was climbing out of my jeans and panties (I like to take both off in one full swoop for efficiency) I found a large chunk of chocolate smeared on my inner right thigh. Real chocolate. Not the metaphorical kind. Trust me. A lot of things go through your mind when you encounter smeared ANYTHING in your pants. But being an ultra runner, (and if you've ever been out on a LONG run without toilet amenities you'll know what I'm talking about here) I was confident in my ability to handle the situation.


Suddenly a whole Question and Answer series scrolled in my head.

Question in my head: Whaaaaa?...
(Honestly, I was confused and having trouble comprehending the whole situation.)
Answer in my head: Dear God, that better be chocolate. (After a little inspection, thankfully it was.)

Q: I don't remember eating chocolate recently. (I realize this isn't a question, but it was in my head.)
A: That looks tasty. (Apparently, I'm quick to get over the shock of a brown smudge in my pants.)

Q: What's the quickest way to clean up this mess? (Again. I'm all about efficiency.)
A: Maybe I can lick it off. It would be tragic to let perfectly good chocolate go to waste.
(Yeah. Maybe I could reach it if I had this dude's skills ...)


  
Q: Wait. How'd chocolate get IN my pants? (There were smeared bits everywhere.)
A: Or the bigger question could be: How'd it get in my panties? (Cuz it was in there too.) (I realize I answered this question with a question, but things are often confusing in my head when faced with a crisis - especially when you find that crisis in your panties.)

Q: Is this my chocolate, or could it be someone else's chocolate? (Oh jeez. The horror.)
A: What would someone else's chocolate be doing in my pants?! (I don't wanna know.)

Q: ???
A: ?

Q: Look for caramel!! (Again. Not a question, but a good point.)
A: Yes Sherlock. The caramel would give it away. If there's a trace of caramel then I KNOW it's MY chocolate and not someone else's. (Cuz it's plausible that it could be the chocolate elves' chocolate. You know - those naughty elves who are highly adept at sneaking non-caramel fairie chocolate into obscure crevices on my body.)

Q: If I find caramel, I'm definitely licking that shit up. That shit shouldn't be wasted. (I realize that the word "shit" is probably not a good choice here.)
A: Oooooooh caramel! (Now I'm bending over inspecting the insides of my legs for tasty morsels.)

Q: DamnNo caramel. I wonder if there's more in the fridge?
A: I should just whip up another batch. (I'm easily distracted by thoughts of baking scrumptious desserts.)

Q: Hmmmm. Look at that - I really need to shave my legs. (I'm also easily distracted by my poor excuse for bodily hygiene.)
A: The texture of leg hair and chocolate could be a less-than-interesting combo. (You think?)

Q: You know... if I added a little shea butter to the chocolate, poured in a small amount of almond or avacado oil, and maybe added some vanilla essential oil, this could make a damn good body butter.
A: YOU. ARE. BRILLIANT. (OK. Cuz I am.)

BOOM. And that's how chocolate in my pants became inspiration for a new homemade body butter recipe which I will be experimenting with soon. It will be so good, you will want to lick yourself. I might just share the recipe. But, be sure to shave your legs first.

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Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Krista's Top Ten List of What Not To Wear While Running

WARNING: Hanging booty
I'm pretty sure I broke a running fashion rule the other week. It's probably the first rule of running fashion. 

Running Fashion Rule #1. Never run with your ass cheeks hanging out of your shorts.

Yeah. Shorter than short shorts are a big NO NO. Well for running anyway. They're perfect for pole dancing and for women fifteen years younger than me.

In my defense though, it was one of those weeks where I was hard-pressed to find time for even my 25 minute hill repeats, which meant that I had to let the laundry suffer. And when the laundry suffers I find myself desperately digging through my clothes drawers to find something, ANYTHING, that is remotely acceptable to wear. I was lucky I wasn't going into the gym or that could have been tragically uncomfortable - instead I was running hills and trails in a somewhat isolated area where only a handful of people in a three year time period unwittingly witnessed my brave attempts at peeing-while-standing-up so I figured the odds were good that I could get away with wearing the hanging-booty booty shorts.

So I did what any desperate runner would do. I put them on. Then asked my husband to photograph the atrocity. I needed confirmation.

Too short booty short fix
These booty shorts were just plain wrong. I bought these shorts online not really paying attention to the inseam measurement. Who measures their inseam anyway? I would think there should be a standard of "appropriate shortness" for workout clothing but apparently I was wrong. Even I found the wedgie from those shorts to be a wee bit invasive and I'm a thong girl.

With my need to run growing more and more intense I tried to correct the problem by pulling my shorts down a bit then using the buff around my waist to keep them from riding up again. I think I was about two repeats in when my cheeks were like "OH HELLO THERE."

I accepted my fate. I should have just ran in a pair of bikini bottoms.

I should clarify that I'm no stranger to running/gym fashion faux pas nor to breaking rules.

Footless socks? Wha?
Check out this little nugget -  my footless socks, ironically, for warmth. Yes. I did that. When I was running barefoot a lot I would cut the feet out of my socks and run with the socks but sans the shoes. For warmth. Yeah. Don't ask. There's no answer to stupidity.

Well... I've smartened up over the years by wearing full length socks and shoes for warmth although most would question my style sanity...

I still support this decision. I love fun socks!

And speaking of cold, let's not forget the time that I smartly decided that since my toe warmers didn't fit INSIDE my minimal shoes I would stick them to the OUTSIDE. Yeah. I did that too. They looked like maxi pads, but in all fairness they worked like a charm. 

For about two miles. Then they fell off.

Oh jeez. Where were the running fashion police that day?

Then there were the toe shoes. My vibrams. Many of my fellow minimal and barefoot friends would say this is not a running fashion faux pa, but I would have to disagree. In my case, they were the ultimate fashion faux pa since I bought them forgetting I had webbed toes that would never comfortably fit into them. Duh.
Mud run with my toes shoved into little painful pockets.
Oh and there's more fashion mistakes I've made over the years. Really. I'm the poster child for the worst dressed runner out there. I could go on and on... but I won't - or maybe I will. How about I give you my top ten worst dressed fashion running secrets here? Come on. I know you want to know. *wink*


Krista's Top List of What Not to Wear
(or, if you're me, What TO Wear) while Running
Cuz everyone needs a running fashion guru… 

1. If you’re a badass wear whatever the hell you want. Let your cheeks hang, your boobs sway, rock the rhinestones.  When you're fast and a badass there's no need to dress responsibly. 

2. If you’re gonna run a race in costume make it worth it. Pink assless chaps and a unicorn costume is pretty worth it. For everybody.

Not sure I'd want this guy running BEHIND me.

3. Cotton is the ultimate running fabric. Seriously. If you can stand the chafing it’ll keep you cool and wet in the summer. And you can rock those old concert tees on the trail. In the winter… well who the hell runs in winter anyway?

4. Look the part. Don’t smell the part. Saturate your running gear in large amounts of perfume or aftershave and you’ll never have to worry about friends complaining that you stink. Of course, your running partners will be MIA, but what do you care? You’ve always enjoyed solo runs anyway.

5. Run naked. There’s nothing wrong with running sans the clothes but note there’s a time and place. You’d be smart to do this at night and in a mostly remote area away from traffic. There’s nothing more disappointing than being arrested just as you are about to PR your best time. But on the flip side, running away from the cops could be the most effective technique for PRing. Be sure to bring your Garmin and track that shit!

6. If you’re a guy, “manpris” (running capris for men) aren’t wrong at all - as long as you can kick everybody’s ass. Literally.

7. Test all your gear for a 5k. If you really want to see how that hydration vest is gonna work out, wear it for a 5k. Oh and try that fuel belt too. Oh and those gaiters… and that headlamp… and those compression socks… and don’t forget the running poles. Because ANYTHING can happen around 2.5 miles.

8. Drink it don’t wear it. We all know beer and whiskey are the best hydration for any race so when drinking it’s important not to get sloppy. Don’t spill it all over yourself before the finish line. You’re an athlete not an alcoholic. Ok. Maybe an athletic alcoholic. Either way, finishing a race smelling like a bum is not cool. Keep it neat. See what I did there?

This hydration did not end up on my shirt.


9. The brighter the better. Wear bright reflective clothing on the trails so the bears know where to find you in the middle of the night. Or so your running partners can run away from you when they see you attacking them.

I have been known to attack innocent runners on the trail.


10. Wear race appropriate attire. Be sure to wear a shirt that is compatible with the race you are running. Be clear so there are no questions.

Perfectly appropriate running attire.
For a mud run.


That's my top ten list of what not to wear, or what to wear. Dress responsibly folks. There are other runners affected by your running fashion actions. If you have anything to add feel free to comment below.
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