Stinging in the Shower

Hold on. Hold on to yourself. For this is gonna hurt like hell.

-- Sarah McLachlan

Ignore the rest of the lyrics that seem to tell the sad tale of some guy dying while his girlfriend knocks on the pearly gates for him. Instead apply the opening lines to my shower yesterday.

I've shared that I often get booboos. And now I am going to share yet another booboo story.

"Don't get any booboos," Bill shouted after me as I threw on my pack and ran out of the house yesterday.

I don't like to listen. About 50 yards from the front door I managed to get my feet tangled in one of those rings of plastic that holds a stack of newspapers together. Down I went, left knee, elbow and hip taking the brunt of the fall.

"Oh, little baby, you feeeeeeeeeeeeell," yelled a neighbor from her front patio.

"Yes, yes I did fall," I said. I stayed on the ground for a bit, trying to decide if I should take a nap or keep going. I decided to keep going and had a decent two-hour run with Abby.

By the time I got home I was sort of pressed for time -- family was in town and we were meeting up for dinner. I avoided the shower for as long as possible, choosing to ignore the blood creeping out from underneath my running tights, refusing to look at when I knew was a scraped hip and hiding the bloody elbow from Bill when he got home from his run.

Finally I knew it was time. I stepped in.

YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

It hurt. A lot. I decided, however, that I didn't want to end up with some nasty, pus-filled wounds or with gravel and dirt permanently lodged under my skin so I scrubbed away.

Maybe I should quit the whole running/biking/dirt thing and take up something safer. Knitting. Puzzles. Cross-stitch.

I Have a Dream

A few weeks before it inevitably and invariably begins -- the hot mess race dream.

About 10 years ago I ran my first race. A flat 10k about three miles from my front door. As soon as I registered, about a month before, the dream began. And, ever since, the nights leading up to a race I care about are often filled with dreams of missed starts, mistakes, injuries.

I wake up late. My car won't go. I have to run to the start and am exhausted by the time I get there. I don't have my bib. I don't have my chip.

The most nervous and excited I've ever been before a race was for the Columbus Marathon. I really, really wanted to qualify for Boston. I put in the miles, put in the time, and actually told a few people that I'd set a BQ as my goal (I usually keep my goals to myself, especially before a race).

Night after night (as in 10 or 15 times) I'd dream that I missed my flight to Columbus or that I left my racing shoes behind. My friends I was staying with kicked me out because they wanted to have a party. I got lost on my way to the start line.

And then the race would begin. Except I'd lose the course and would find myself running aimlessly in circles, through malls, through air craft carries (my dad was a sailor on a few when I was a kid so this isn't as random as it would seem). I'd finally cross the finish line in 12 hours or worse.

I am in bed. Not in a coffin.

I patiently waited for the Rev3 dreams to begin. Finally, late last week, it showed up. A variation on a theme this time. We are in canoes on a quiet river when suddenly we tip.

My three teammates are swept downriver, laughing as they go. I am sucked backward into the tower of a castle where I get stuck for hours and hours, the rest of my team now below me, laughing and pointing at my misfortune.

Thanks, guys.

I’ve had this exact dream two more times. I never get out of the castle.

Um, what’s this all about? Is my team running some sort of covert operation to strand me like Rapunzel or what? I am dreading the paddle of this race (28 miles with a single-blade canoe paddle … should take forever) so I get where the canoe part is coming from. But castles and mean teammates?

Does anyone else have weird, trippy, anxiety-ridden pre-race dreams, or am I just a wackadoo?