Waiting to Get There. Usually on the A/C/E in Chelsea, New York City.

I have done a lot of spectating in my time.  I have spectated at triathlons, duathaons, bike races and running races. Hundreds of running races. I have spent countless hours standing by the side of the road caterwauling in the general direction of friends, family members and thousands of people I have never seen before and will never see again. Don’t mess with me. I’m in the elite sideline club that you can only join after your marathoning husband tosses a sweaty pair of insoles in your general direction and expects you to catch them. I began my spectating career cheering for my mother, who never really appreciated my efforts. She became particularly annoyed with me when I was ten, standing on the shore of a lake during a canoe race. I used my entire lung capacity to inform everyone in a 3 mile radius she really needed to pick up the pace. Some weeks later she was running a 10k and passed out due to dehydration. I didn’t see this as any excuse not to finish strong. There i

Day 1:  4th of july, I had a knife fight with a bunch of lovely purple asters. These dainties have stems like tree trunks. They laughed at my scissors so I got out a giant kitchen knife and starting swinging. Turns out my finger lacks garden-caliber tensile strength. I was remarkably calm as blood started squirting all over the kitchen It's-just-a-flesh-wound  style. After I shrieked we needed to go to the hospital STAT, Tom came running over with a tiny wad of sterile gauze and my insurance card. We dashed downstairs and I flagged down a cab with a blue schmata wrapped around my hailing hand. TOURIST TIP: Flagging a cab by waving around a bloody blue schmata proved weirdly effective. A driver pulled over almost immediately. “Take us to the ER!”  We ended up at the urgent care place on 23rd Street which we remembered was there as we drove past it. First they made me fill out a bunch of forms which I bled all over. I wasn’t overly upset about the mess as I felt it