In a few hours, I’m doing the Spartan Race again. I’m giddy with anticipation and nerves a little bit.
I’m also well-rested, since I just slept for like nine hours, which isn’t something that occurs often, unless it’s the 3 a.m. til whenever variety. I went to bed at like 10 p.m. on a Friday night which is kind of unheard of for me, but it’s not like Friday nights are of the teenage dream variety, where parties and socialite events are mandatory.
But anyway, man did I just have a surreal dream. That in spite of all the rest I granted myself, that I still managed to oversleep. Just enough to where I didn’t miss my run, but was precariously close to possibly not being allowed to run it.
And man, was I furious. Screaming in the car over and over again, with my poor dog riding shotgun, trying his best to no-sell it, but I knew it was agitating him. I knew this, but I was still so angry that I was screaming my lungs out. Screaming at everyone that I thought was an inadvertent contributor to my oversleeping, and naturally myself for being the fucktard that let it all happen. All while I was getting red light after red light, trying to make it to the race site, while I was totally illegally checking my phone while driving, so I could see emails and try and punch in map directions.
Then I woke up. It wasn’t quite the wake up in cold sweats, sitting up like the Undertaker kind of wake up snap, but it was pretty close. I checked the clock, and it was just 6 a.m.; about 45 minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off.
I didn’t think twice about it – I got out of bed. And I had time to write this, because I thought it was kind of surreal, kind of funny, but definitely brog-worthy.
The nerves are good. It means I’m really excited. Going to own this run. Domination is the only option.
