So, this is my 3rd year as an assistant cross country coach at a local totes awesome high school, and summer training began last week. The kids are not required to show up during the summer, but it’s always encouraged so that, come early August and the start of the XC season, they are not completely WTF, YOU HELLISH COACHES?? about running in 95 degrees.
Anyway, the summer training always starts off with some hilarious (to me anyway) bangs. Last year, I was running along with the girls on 21st Avenue on a particularly windy day. As expected, there were some ongoing hair disasters which required stopping completely, some flouncy tossing back and forth of hair, and total re-tying or braiding or whatever. This got a little tedious by the 3rd hair emergency. Naturally, I am utterly unfashionable and wear a hat or visor to avoid hair comic-tragedies on the run, so I was kind of all, “Okay, can we possibly TRY to run an 8th of a mile before the next hair appointment?”
So everyone was calmly running along for a good 12 minutes without adjusting their coiffures when a pathetic, “Help!” arose near the back of the group. One of the freshmen had gotten her hair stuck to a utility pole. A utility pole! HA HA HA!!! Somehow, the wind had whipped her hair around the pole and it had gotten stuck to some old staples. Now THAT was a hair crisis. It took 3 girls a good 7 minutes to extricate that poor freshman from the pole.
Anyhoo, this year’s very first run resulted in a freshman having a fairly astounding hurl only 12 minutes into the run. That wasn’t exactly a laugh riot, but it was memorable. It happened right in the middle of a busy entrance to a parking lot, so I had the truly enviable position of having to direct traffic around this poor young girl who would absolutely NOT budge until she was sure her stomach had settled. It took for. ever. Ack.
Today, however, we decided to run downtown to laugh at the tourists here for the CMA Festival. CMA brings in tourists for days in brand-new uncomfortable boots, ridic hats, and generally-speaking, far too little clothing for their corpulent frames. It’s a 5-day blowout of country music, flat beer, and sweat. Jealous?
So, we were running along and some 20-something dude with a startlingly huge tattoo of the Ragnar symbol on his back came flying up beside us and began yammering non-stop about himself and his running (startling behavior for a runner, I know). Then he launched into how he’d done 7 Ragnars and was a “Ragnar Ambassador” and Ragnar blah blah blah. I was silently thinking, go away go away go away go away and most of the girls were just running along quietly, glancing occasionally out of the corners of their eyes at Ragnar Man. He was also wearing black socks, which put no one at ease.
Finally, one of the braver seniors asked him, “So is Ragnar a 5K?” Instantly, Ragnar Man looked super-irritated-crestfallen-deflated.
I WAS DYING! I had to slow down so I could snort! A 5K! HAH HA HA HA AHHA HA!!!
Well, after that, Ragnar Man made an abrupt turn off Broadway and we saw nary hide nor hair nor jumbo tattoo of him again.
I’m not sure if that tops the utility pole hair debacle of last year, but I’m still laughing. Four hours later.