Before you get all perved out by the title, let me say this: if you're only familiar with the one, non-Crossfit related definition of the word "snatch", I suggest expanding your horizons because it's not what you think it is. Well, it is what you think it is, just not in this use of the word. I did, however, come up with the title while I was showering. You can figure that one out yourself.
No. This is about team "Can't Catch That Snatch". A Crossfit team running Ragnar. Or just plain ragged if you're me. If you've not heard of Ragnar this is it in a nutshell: You gather up 12 crazies, pile 6 of them in one van and 6 of them in another, and you run a relay style race. Van 1 starts at a particular location, each team member runs a set course and a set amount of miles, and then van 2 takes over where they left off. When one van is running, the other van has time to grab some food, find a place to shower and kill some time for a few hours. It's like Woodstock but on 4 wheels. So now, let me clarify one thing right off the bat so that we are all on the same page. I am not a runner. If I am not being chased, or there is not a pizza slice just a few feet ahead of me, I find no need for it. I do it because I have a Crossfit coach who deems endurance necessary. Whatever. He's cute. I listen. Anyway....the team was in need of one more person and I got the pity ask. You know the one. "Hey, time is running out, Ragnar is in one week, we can't find anyone else, so how would you like to be on our team?" (That's how I heard it anyway. Remember, poster child for self-sabotage.) Being that I am fairly new to Arizona, hadn't really come out of my shell, and wanted to be a part of the community, I set aside my feelings of dread at the thought of running, 3 TIMES, and said yes. I figured, how bad can it be? I get to spend time with people I enjoy, get to know them, have a few laughs, and run a little on the side. It's not like it's the Marine Corp. Marathon that I ran in 2007 (which, by the way, I said yes too while I was drunk and eating a sleeve of Oreo's. I hated running then as well. Perhaps my next post needs to be about the art of saying NO!) Well....it was bad. The running sucked!! It sucked so friggin' bad that I said yes to the Trail Series in November (back to the art of saying NO!) simply because our van was, and IS, #TheBestVanEver!!
First, the ugly! Here is a snapshot for those of you who are visual.
See my team? See those amazing, in shape, bods of steel? Then you see the layer cake in the middle? Blue glasses and feathers on her head? That's me. That's the woman who you don't want to "kill" you on the run because you will be the laughing stock of Ragnar. That's what my team was working with folks. (To back up slightly, a "kill" is when one runner passes another on their leg of the race. I guess it gives you something to focus on other than wishing someone would just come up and shoot you in the face and end the misery.) What I did not know, other than how many damn pictures of my fat ass was going to end up on Facebook, was how kills were tracked. You have your name ON THE WINDOW of the van so that EVERYONE can count your check marks. My team members each had about, oh I dunno, 25 or so, if not more. Not that I compare myself to others or anything, but are you fucking kidding me!!??? It's not enough to be athletic and easy on the eyes, but now you have to 24 up me!? Notice I didn't say 25? That's because I got my kill, baby!! #ONE! And yes, the use of the hashtag came into play early on during this trip because I wrote out my kill as #O.N.E. so that the letters would extend as far out as everyone else's marks. How do ya like me now, Snatches!?
Which leads me to Raul. Dear, sweet, #OneKill Raul. I would estimate that he was a cool 300+ lbs. of man meat. He was bustin' a move ahead of me and I had my eyes set on him from the start. You should note, however, that if Speedy on our team didn't run so Goddamn fast, and if I was actually prepared for her arrival rather than being screamed at by spectators "WHERE IS #77!!??? YOUR RUNNER IS WAITING!!", I would have started out running in the proper direction and this kill wouldn't have been such a challenge! Nonetheless, it was a challenge and I almost didn't catch him. The Universe felt my pain at being kill-less, however, and Raul started walking! YES!! Now I got him right where I want him!! As I moved in I was playing out in my mind what I should do. Do I smile? No. Then I look like a pompous asshole and, being that I was killed about 19 times on that run alone, I didn't want to inflict the same pain on him. Do I wink? Nah. Then he will think I'm interested in him and, being that we are the only two alone on the road, I could be asking for trouble. I've seen SVU. Do I say "good job?" Nope. Still not a good look. So, I breezed on by him, gave myself a mental high-five, and knew that nothing else that happened on this adventure would matter. I got my kill. Sorry buddy!
The rest of the runs didn't get much better. It was pitch black because it was about 2:00am on my 2nd leg and I was pretty certain I was going to shit my pants. People were sprinting by me and now I know why. Hell, I almost gassed myself out! It would have been nice to have van support at that point if for no other reason than to take my mind off of the shooting pains in my stomach, but, for as amazing as my van was, they SUCKED at van support. Van support is when you get to pull to the side of the road, cheer your runner on, offer water or toilet paper or what have you. That kind of stuff. Numerous vans were pulled over. It was so lovely to see runners smile and know someone on the road cared. I just knew it was only a matter of time before MY van pulled over. Knew. It. Yeah, that never happened. I did, however, get one lone woman on the side of the road look at me quizzically and then shouted "Go, Runner!" Turns out she had no fuckin' clue if I was a man or a woman! If my tits weren't lost in my belly-button she would have had an easier time. But seriously.... this is clearly the face and body of a lady!!
Whatever. No van support.
The 3rd and final leg was just straight-up bullshit! It was in the high 90's (but add in 60 extra lbs. and menopause and it easily became 120 degrees), again, no van support, and again, Speedy was friggin' speed demon on the the hills! She was supposed to be about 15-20 minutes slower than anticipated so of course, I was not prepared. Again. Actually, I was pissed. Here is proof.
If my face doesn't say it, allow me to tell you exactly what was on my mind: "Just give me the fucking band already!" Really, there isn't much more to say there. I ran my last leg, wished I were anywhere else, and swore I'd never run again unless I had too.
I would be remiss though if I didn't take time to say how awesome team "Can't Catch That Snatch" actually was. I can't remember the last time I laughed until I cried and wheezed both at the same time. So many memories and friendships were created and, apparently, I also found my long lost #SnatchSister. A woman working the headband booth was kind enough to point out that we should be related. (I'll make a mental note to speak with my Mom about that.) When I looked at my twin of the same name, I noticed that she, too, was white, had freckles, easily sunburned and had hair. I knew immediately that headband lady was right! #Twinsies
I am actually really looking forward to the #BestTentEver on the Trail Run. I know I just bitched and moaned at the horror and injustice of it all, but the reality is that I am a glutton for punishment and, in some sick, twisted, fat bastard way, I actually enjoy these crazy adventures. Besides, I won't have to worry about van support and I already know a few people who said they would spoon with me. So thank you "Can't Catch That Snatch" for inviting me to the party...even if it was out of desperation!