It appears that I have returned from a brief hiatus or two, hence, hiatuses. Seems like that word needs another “es” on the end, “hiatuseses” has a nice “I’m using a big word but may or may not be able to pronounce it,” feel. I’m going with that. 

Since Labor Day Friday I have    driven 2400 miles, cooked 160 meals for LSU athletes, drank too many adult beverages, laughed till I almost peed and run up and down the mountains of North Carolina through downpours and darkness. As solid a 10 day stretch as one could ask for. Oh and I got glasses. Fuckery. 

Something had to give and that was this. I’d say I’ve returned ready to conquer the world with my wit and stoic observation, but that sounds self serving. Even for me. I do return introspective. For whatever that’s worth. 

I started another post (are these posts or blogs or essays or plogs?) about the weekend doing Blue Ridge Relays. It couldn’t help but come out like an attempt to not write a race report while writing a race report so I scrapped that. Here’s the big takeaway. Running, while a necessary component of running a 208 mile relay is 4-10th on the list of the greatness that occurs on one of these adventures. I’ve had one off discussions with over half the team and the big win is always the van. We enter it pensive on our ability to run fast enough for the team. By the third leg we realize that the running doesn’t matter. We are better for the stink, the lack of sleep, the laughter, the pain, the jokes and  everything else but running. We arrive at a place where we know whatever we do while running is accepted and celebrated by the group because it was our best, for them and for us. For whatever reason, every single time I’ve done this the group comes back with a bond. When we enter the van we somehow leave all the garbage in our lives behind and the best goodness of ourselves shines through. We can set personal running goals to varying successes, but they pale in comparison to the friendships that come from sitting in a van for 30 (or 50) hours with nothing to eat but pretzels, fig bars and BO. 

I am always evaluating what I want out of this plog. Attention, readership, catharsis.  The good news is mostly I don’t have to pick. To that end though it will live up to that expectation completely. Meaning set no goals and you get no goals. Back from hiatus, I’m digging into what I want it to be. I know it can be all of it. 

At least now I can see the words and have less of an excuse for the typos. 

My quads still feel like ground sausage. 

#hugsandhi5s