When I think of the journey we've had so far, I think the immortal words of the Grateful Dead sum things up pretty well - "
what a looooooong, strange trip its been". One of the best things about our journey for me is the fact that I am still waking up with the determination to keep pushing even as we draw ever closer to our biggest challenge yet - completing 3 laps at the upcoming Virginia Beach Mudder. It isn't so much the 3 laps as the fact that this will equate to 6 Berlin Walls, 3 sets of Hangin' Tough (there is no way that obstacle is left off again), 3 Funky Monkies, and 3 attempts at Everest. I simply refuse to think of all the electricity until it is before me. Frankly I'll take the Arctic Enema penalty now rather than 3 Electric Eels. I really hate that obstacle.
Obviously the news about Patrick is freakin' terrible. He is the one who initially proposed our race at Wintergreen and has frankly set the pace in every race. Not having him out there hasn't really set in yet. I'm sure that will unfortunately happen at the start of the VB event.
Another great thing about running these events though is that we have met some real characters along the way. All memorable in their own way, but only a few who come up again and again in our conversations together. So I wanted to tip my hat to these individuals in a new segment called Characters Met Along the Way.
Tonight we start with Sandy. Not the first character we've met but arguably the best and most memorable so far. Also, a lot more fun to talk about than a racist ass taxi driver roaming the back streets of Miami. Still figuring out how to work him in to a post - actually trying to figure out if he deserves any more of my attention than he sucked up in Miami.
The story of Sandy though really begins in South Beach. Our trip to Miami was largely a factor of all the financial stars aligning. Pat secured some really inexpensive airline tickets. Brian generously dedicated some of his credit card points so we could stay at one of the old hotels he worked for (kidding of course but who in the heck has the same matching lime green sweatshirt as the polo shirts of the hotel's front desk staff) which left us simply with transportation and food. The event itself was part of our season's pass and, come on, it's South Beach.
Now from Brian's recent post which highlights our growing sveltness over the past year, we are still 3 fairly large individuals huddling, not cuddling, into a single hotel room. Now think of that image, not the cuddling, that after a full day in the mud. An all too common sign on the Tough Mudder Course comes to mind - This Doesn't Smell Like Mud. It was a smell that the nose recalls long after the scent has passed. I wonder why those smells are never the good ones. Needless to say it was pretty bad. While we finally got up the common sense to open a window, my apologies still go out to those wonderful housekeepers who came in to clean our room. I'm sure you are still cursing us as that smell lingers in your memory as well. I have no idea why we didn't go down to the laundry room and throw everything in the washer. We were either exhausted but I would like to think we are simply not that mean spirited. I mean our stuff was filthy.
We didn't think we would encounter the same problem in our most recent Mid-Atlantic event as there were 4 of us who were originally going. But after an attack of the "poopies" and a cancellation, it was back to the three of us and back to one room. This time, under the leadership of Mr. Nichols, we were going to take advantage of the laundry service at the hotel. I'm sure you can imagine what greeted us in a hotel that had a welcome to all mudders sign on the door.
There was no way they were going to let any of us crazy people go to town on the one tiny washer they had in the entire hotel. But memories of that stink got the creative juices really flowing and it hit us - LAUNDRY MAT!!!!! There just had to be a laundry mat nearby. And there was. Within walking distance even though we had no intention of walking.
And this is where we meet Sandy. Honestly when I first walked in, I thought she worked there. And I don't mean that in any sense of the imagination that I have an image for someone who is a clerk in a laundry mat but simply by the fact that we were greeted, from across the room I might add, with a "Did you all just complete the Tough Mudder." I thought this was going to be followed with the inevitable - "Get the hell out." But it wasn't. It was simply Superstorm Sandy slowly beginning to churn up water in the deep Atlantic. Over the next 45 minutes we had many of the mysteries of the universe opened before us - the use of newspaper to finish drying a pair of tennis shoes, the power of duck tape to prevent dryer doors from flying open, and many other lessons from reducing mold growth, to the true secrets to getting your whites truly white, and other bounties that my tiny mind has just not been able to retain.
All said in one of the most genuine New York accents that you will ever hear. It was then that we learned she was from Long Island, how her family fared in the horrible storm that passed last year, and the fact that it was simply fated to be horrible as this storm was named after her. A true superstorm as powerful as the "weird but true" fact machine standing before us.
But it was great. No better way to pass the time in a laundry mat. Lots of new ideas to try - I have old newspaper in my shoes as I speak - yeah not really but still a great idea. And the beautiful thing was that Sandy wasn't even a competitor. She was a mom who had traveled with her 18 year old son and his friends and came to do their laundry while they sat back in their hotel room and consumed the liquor that she also took the time to go and buy for them. Ahhhhh Sandy - they don't make mom's like you anymore.
I think we naively thought that was the end of things. But ohhhh no, Superstorm Sandy was just starting to make landfall. One of the things that you need to know is that our hotel selection usually vacillates between two amenities - those that have a continental breakfast and those that have a hot tub for the post race retreat. In West Virginia we had both. And after the 2nd most difficult course we've run - a hot tub dip was on the menu. By now I'm sure you can guess what happened next.
Have you ever walked by a room, tried to put on the brakes, with the sole realization that you were too late. Well that is exactly what happened. And this is no jab at Sandy - hell I just wanted to sit in the tub, talk about the race, and rest with the two Mudda Bruddas I came with. Not be pummeled with an endless stream of knowledge passed down from mother to mother over a a millennia of living on Long Island. I froze though - which is probably the worst thing that can happen in that situation. Freeze right in the line of sight. Brian's words still ring in my ear, "well we have to go in now." Pat of course had no idea why I skidded to a halt - he had yet to experience the Sandy that we had come to know and love.
Nothing left to do but bite the bullet and head in - just Sandy and the three of us. But I'll be honest here. I learned a great deal over the next 45 minutes. I learned the proper way to stop teenage orgies - at least if I'm in charge and supervising. Sandy never went into other ways of stopping teenage orgies if you just happen to be passing by. The secret - keep the girls away. Worst thing I did - let Sandy know I have 2 girls myself. I mean the injustices girls face on a day to day basis. With all the blow jobs they give and the fact that they only get fingered in return. Yes folks that is the hot tub talk with Sandy. We are now up to a full Category 4 and we are the ones now on the news who chose not to evacuate. And now there is no escape. All the while her son and his friends are getting loose upstairs on some bottom shelf Scotch. But hey - there was at least no orgy that she would have to tell anyone's mother about.
I still don't know how in the heck I kept a straight face. I doubt that I did. But honestly a Cat 4 cares nothing for what you think. It's here, you are in the way, and you will eventually be blown away - no pun intended.
That was our last run in with Sandy. Maybe some higher power realized that this force of nature was more than we could handle. Maybe Sandy had found others to tutor in the ways of general household care and teenage sexuality. But memories of Sandy remain. Maybe we will run into Sandy and her crew at the fall Mid-Atlantic race. I can only hope that if our paths cross again that I am ready for more - that I can handle another superstorm.
