I wrote the original post ten years ago almost to the day -- Runners: The things we carry in our cars. I was wasting time when I wrote that. Didn't feel like running, so I wrote instead.
https://alwaysatthestartingline.blogspot.com/2015/05/runners-things-we-carry-in-our-cars.html
Ten frickin' years ago. A few things have changed, but procrastinating continues to be one of my favorite hobbies.
Yesterday I took on the onerous task of attempting to clean out my car. The mess had reached such epic proportions that no more than one primary school-aged grandchild could fit in the back seat. This is Iowa, the state of "if you build it they will come." Perhaps if my car has room for more than one grandchild? Maybe more will come? Doubt it, but one can dream.
In addition to taking me to runs all over tarnation, my aging, trusty steed is now charged with driving me halfway across the country and back a few times a year, so these days there is a definite midden-like, archeological aspect to cleaning out my favorite dumping ground.
There are certain items that definitely and only pertain to the grit and grime of excessive travel, like bits of kitty litter, chewed up cat toys, toll and gas receipts, the rest area promotional detritus that seemed spur-of-the-moment interesting: Amish handicraft stores, upstate New York wineries, retail outlet malls, hotel lists right off 80 and 90. Ugh.
But even with all that, the running crap still abounds.
Question. How many half-empty water bottles can one rusting mid-sized SUV hold?
Answer. The limit does not exist.
Here are some other marathony treasures I found during my foray into the mess that is my auto.
Three mostly- empty tubes of Aquaphor.
Zero bars of Body Glide. Moved away from that faithful friend back when multi-day races became a thing and needed to up the lubrication to industrial-strength. Oh, the chafing.
One tangled, broken headset that is not in any way, shape, or form compatible with 21st century technology.
Two phone chargers, also ancient.
No space blankets, but one sweatshirt for a race I didn't show up for because I was still dealing with dizziness, which begs the question: keep the sweatshirt or donate it? The generally accepted integrity move is never wear items from a race you didn't run. But it's a nice sweatshirt and I DNS'd -- did not show -- because of medical issues, not due to laziness. I need to think about this.
Two blankets, both Dollar Store fleece, which make great post-run seat covers.
One towel, disgustingly stiff. I have no idea why. Ick.
Coins. So many. Mostly pennies.
Thousands of pens. Why????
A ridiculous amount of single gloves/ mittens. How the heck does that happen? How does one lose just one glove, over and over and over again?
One race bib. No safety pins attached. Again, why do I have this???? Safety pins are the whole reason to hold onto those bibs.
One marathon medal. WTF??? Who the heck am I even? When did I become that person who is so underwhelmed about finishing 26.2 miles that I forget to take the medal, the evidence of completing that massive physical feat, into the house and at least show some respect for my efforts by dumping it on a bureau or countertop?
I remember that race too. It was awesome. In Vermont last year. Weather was perfect. Lots of big-ass hills. I ran the first half at a pace a half hour faster than I'd been running that distance the whole previous year, then walked the last half because that's my thing now, either run/ walking the entire distance, or running for awhile then walking the remainder: My creative, though possibly somewhat useless method of staving off hip replacement surgery for a few more years, fingers crossed.
Off on a few more adventures soon. With 91 marathons under my belt, 100 beckons. Then maybe I'll stop. The mojo is definitely not what it once was. The knees, hips, and what few brain cells I have left are no longer in sync with the whole marathoning process. Though the other day the grandkid did take a peek at my London Marathon medal and asked me if I'd won. I thought about telling him how just getting to the starting line feels like a win these days, even if the finish line feels a bit anti-climactic.
"Did I win? That's a good question," I said, buying time while I figured out what words should come next because words matter. "Nope. I haven't won yet. But maybe one of these days, if I keep trying."
I didn't believe my words, even as I said them. But even we grown ups know that sometimes, even when you fake it you do eventually make it. The trying is the main thing. The trying is the point of it all. I want my grandson to know that. Then this occurred to me: Words matter. But actions? Those define.
And now all I want to do is run.
Crap. I don't think I'll be stopping at 100.
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