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kevkesblog · 4 years

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Translation: Julian Brandt Interview for BVB Podcast (March 31, 2020)

ATTENTION LONG POST: probably the longest post on my blog so far. The interview went for about 32 minutes! He talks about how he spends his time at home now during the Corona-Virus, how people in his environment cope with the virus, how training goes in these special times. He also talks about the salary-cut BVB players agreed to and donations from football players and that story where he got badly sunburned in Spain once.

You can listen to the Podcast (Episode 4) with Julian here.

Well Julian, we are many meters apart. It’s a difficult time right now. How bored do you feel right now as a professional football player?

Ju: Thankfully I have this talent – where I can always find something to do within my own four corners. I did buy myself – long before everything started – a new grill. So I trained myself to become my own grill master. And just recently I started to mix songs on my computer…. Which is something I completely suck at!

Ok, ok… first of all: how do you train yourself to become a grill master? And you really weren’t talented in the beginning at all?

Ju: Well sure I‘ve grilled before, but I’ve never had my own grill – neither when I lived in Cologne nor here in Dortmund. Well the weather has been good here in the past one or two weeks. And so I had this great idea – to get myself a grill, as long as I was still able to…

So you got yourself a grill for 2000 euros with five burners….

Ju ….no, no, no. It has at least three burners (smiles).

Three burners?

Ju: Yes, three burners. Well no, I mean we aren’t at a TV cooking show here but… yeah it has a nice look.

Well you picked the topic. You have to get through it now. What stuff do you grill?

Ju: Everything possible. I got… burgers! Really good!

That sounds good…

Ju: I mean if I would do this as a franchise, I would say „Five Guys“ could wrap everything up and leave (laughs).

(laughs) Ok. Well you just made some great burgers. So if you guys out there want some great burgers go to Julian Brandt.

Ju: Now let’s talk about music, because it’s something I can also do…

Awesome! Music is something I’m interested as well. I’m not fully into that topic, but what are you mixing? Tell us!

Ju: Yeah, I mean I’m in contact with some guys who are at home. And we send each other many funny videos which has gone viral. And there was one video we saw with an awesome mix. It was from a young lady. Perhaps she was a DJane herself – I don’t know her though. So we thought it was really cool. And then I made myself a task and tried to replicate that mix at home. Because I had nothing to do. Yet, I reached my capacities pretty quickly… but I felt how I had developed… so yeah it was really cool and that’s where I started. Then I called one of my friends via Facetime… because I made it. And so I continued doing it.

Well we are still desperately looking for great content for YouTube, so if we can get some images of you grilling burgers, half-naked with your mixtape playing in the background…

Ju: …with an apron, where you can see my bare ass, right?

Not that I would personally approve…

Ju: (laughs)

(laughs)… but who knows. It will bring at least some clicks I guess.

Ju: Well I don’t know. I have to let that go through my head.

Go head. Now seriously though: today was training. But only in pairs, with some distance to each other, so that we are following all the current rules right now. Maybe you can take us with you and explain how that works and if this is a small step forward?

Ju: It definitely a step forward for me. It works like this: you will get assigned into a group of two. And they will appear at different times – and in different places. We have very big… how big is it? 15…

15 hectares, I think…

Ju: …15 hectares terrain. And we have some extra space now, because the youth teams and the academy are completely shut down at the moment. So we are split up: in the youth building, in our building and we have an extra athletic tent. And we also have the footballnaut. They are all split up from each other. So that’s how the groups are split up then. In that way, we are able to get all pairs through the day. I was there at… I think 2:30pm with Tobi Raschl. We spent two hours there, and it’s definitely something different instead of doing exercises at home. But it’s absolutely better for you – for sure…

Because you need a certain pressure, when somebody is watching you? I mean it’s something different for me when I run as a hobby on my own or in a group.

Ju: It’s a bit of everything. I mean honestly, sure: if you say I do some sport at home you do your schedule. You run. Perhaps you do some exercise… but in the end you finish after an hour or an hour and a half. Today we did a – actually more than two hour session and you have much more things you can do. I mean you have a huge pitch just for you. Sure you can do stuff with the ball. I mean I can’t do that at home here, I would shatter all glasses… and that’s also not fun at all (smiles)… So for us I would say it’s better than just being at home all the time trying to keep yourself fit.

Let’s play „make a wish“. In a situation like now where the entire country seems to be in a shutdown, with many people having fears about their livelihoods. Fears which you don’t have as football players, let’s be pretty blunt about that – but if you could play “make a wish” about your job situation, what would you wish?

Ju: With my job situation!?

Yes. What’s your wish for next weeks ahead? How should everything continue?

Ju: Well I can make a general assessment and I wish that everything stops very quickly. That everything goes back to normal. The baker can bake his breads; people don’t have the fear of losing their livelihoods. It’s something I would wish everybody. It’s not about my job – it about everyone‘s job. But sure, for us as football players – and I know I’m complaining on a very high level, I’m fully aware of that – but: we live for football. We’re not doing anything else. And sure we want to play again. I wish I would play in front of a full stadium again, sure! I think we have all accepted that this won’t happen anytime soon. I hope it will go forward – parallel to football. That generally people in our society can leave their flats and houses again – and return to their normal life which is something everybody is looking for right now.

How do you view your environment, your friends in this situation? How stressful is it for them right now?

Ju: It’s actually okay. Many of my friends are students. So they’re doing a lot of video conferences right now. I saw that with my brother. It’s possible. Sure it’s different than sitting at Uni and learning there and you can’t go away – usually you get more distracted at home. Yet, I would say: the situation is easier for them at the moment. They can learn at home as well as at university. My brother can combine both – he studies in Cologne, yet he can also visit my family in Bremen. Or he has time to see my parents – or our parents. I mean they are also his parents (laughs)… I really don’t feel the current situation it with them. But sure, I know a lot of people who are car dealers for example. Or restaurant owners. That’s really something different with them, yes.

Now: it’s not like you decided to play golf or tennis – an individual sport, but a team sport instead. You are being forced now to work out individually though. What’s the sort of thing within the team you miss the most at the moment? I know, you can’t even get dressed together at the moment. Even after every session you have to take a shower at home – so everything that makes up team sports, even training together, is now gone. What do you miss the most?

Ju: (thinks)…hmmm…. Yeah, what you miss the most is sure the chatter with the other guys, being among people, communicating. Everybody tries to stay at home. I live alone. I like to be alone – (smiles) – that is even an advantage for me! But sure – I don’t know, just a few weeks ago you could sit in a café – today you can be happy just to see six, seven or eight guys at training and chat with them. Those are things you miss after a while. And I’m quite sure, that’s how many other people are feeling at the moment, because they have to stay home. Yeah, but I’m just missing being among people, chatting, having an exchange… that’s something that revives a person. Especially for the elderly, for seniors. I mean it’s something fundamentally important, to talk with their grandkids – or children. I really have to say that’s something missing right now. But we are all in this together and you have to follow the rules.

Sure, I mean if I look at my three sons, they can play among each other and they have a garden they can play in, but there are also many people living in a three-person 60 square meter flat and can’t get out at all. And they are basically sitting on each other for such a long time now….

Ju: …yeah definitely! Definitely!

A salary cut – a topic that came up a couple of days ago. I want to talk about this head on. How did you follow that topic and how did it all played out?

Ju: We met on Monday last week, in two separate groups. So not as a whole team, but rather one group of German-speaking players and another group whose language is primarily English.

At the media center of the stadium, right?

Ju: Exactly. Not at the training center or the dressing room, but at the room where the press conferences usually are, because the room is much bigger. As well with a minimum-distance by the way… (smiles)

Oh really!?

Ju: …we were all sitting apart from each other. So not next to each other. And so we were discussing different stuff. It was not about the salary-cut first. It was more about: how the current situation is, what is planned. We can’t really plan anything. We are still looking from Monday to Thursday… from Thursday to Monday. We don’t really have a real plan as well. We try to plan the week ahead as good as we can. Now we train in pairs until Thursday. We then have to look again after that…

And if I can just jump in: I think the foreign-players also got a briefing about the medical situation in Germany. How many intensive care beds we have in comparison to other countries. Do you feel well accommodated? How does it look in your home countries? Has this also been a topic at your meeting?

Ju: Well, I wasn’t there of course. But there has been medical information shared. This wasn’t so much of a topic with us, because we were already pretty much informed about. But sure, it’s important that our guys from Belgium, France or England are being told about the current situation. And… I mean you really honestly have to say: the medical standards here in Germany are very, very, very good compared to other countries in Europe. I think it’s important for our foreign players to know, because they got families and you can comfort them in a certain way. In the end, we – of course – talked about that topic „salary-cut” as well. Aki Watzke made the suggestion – and it was very clear for us that we would do this. That we will do this. In the end it’s easy: basically we players are there to help the club on the pitch. To score, to prevent goals, winning titles… but we are also there to help the club in general. And it’s the same now to help them financially in the same manner as it will be on the pitch in a couple of weeks or months, hopefully. So in the end, we want to help in the best interests for the club.

I can imagine the current situation is not very easy for a professional football player, from a communication standpoint. There are basically two paths: one is I donate. I give something to society and make that public. And then I look through the Instagram comments and most followers write stuff like „ohh well, that’s the amount of money he makes within 18 days or 20 days. Now he has to elevate himself into the public – does he really have to do that?“ The other path is: I donate. I support people who are in need right now, and keep it for myself. That’s something totally fine as well. But the danger is: because nobody talks about it, people say „Those millionaires! There aren’t doing anything!“ How do you classify that for yourself?

Ju: (thinks)… hmmm….well we have in some way talked about it already. With me it’s more like – I prefer the second path. Let me be honest: I heard about the #wekickcorona which Leon Goretzka and Joshua Kimmich launched. He texted me and asked „hey are you interested in this? We will fully disclose about where the money goes to. Do you think it’s a great thing? So I wrote him after ten, fifteen seconds: „I’m in!”. That’s kind of a no-brainer for me in a certain way – like many people are demanding. However, I don’t have the feeling to be in every newspaper and make myself to some kind of hero because of it. That’s not who I am. I rather keep stuff like that to myself. Sure the fact I joined was made public by the „wekickcorona“-page – the amount of money was not mentioned.

Yet you haven’t done anything over your channels…

Ju: I put it into my stories for 24 hours. Because sure, it’s about generating more interest onto the page. You help the guys doing that. Yet I haven’t made great postings or announced „I’m in it with so and so much money“. It’s a thing with me, where I say: I have a good feeling for myself. Of course you will always have people, saying „I never read anything from you. You never post anything, therefore you don’t do anything and that’s why you are a guy who doesn’t show any solidarity with others and who doesn’t want to help others!” You will always have those people. And it’s okay for me. I’m totally at peace with myself. We just donated 2,5 million euros with the national team. And that’s not from the DFB bank account. It came from us players as well. Again, I don’t want to make this a bigger issue…

Well I have actively asked about it, you haven’t told me I should ask you about it, so…

Ju: In the end, the fact that I do something is important for me. It’s generally important to do something! We just had that topic. If it’s about helping people who are helping other people. Or people…. The bakery, the best example… helping them. Or the barber, in order for them to continue their businesses. It’s important. But this sort of self-staging is nothing for me.

Let’s get back to football. You talked about the national team. There is an important tournament missing now. It’s hard isn’t it?

Ju: Yeah… but it’s later now.

Doesn’t it make any difference?

Ju: Whether we play this year or next year… I think it’s good; we have some sort of buffer for the league right now. And honestly that’s my personal opinion - everybody can have a different viewpoint: I think it’s important for us to finish the Bundesliga season! If possible! If the circumstances are right. If everything develops into a positive direction. Perhaps, if the local health agencies also approve everything – I would deem it as important to finish the Bundesliga season. Not because I want to play football again. But rather because it’s about keeping the league together! So that clubs can stay around. I think it’s important for people in general in Germany….

Perhaps a bit normality…?

Ju: Definiately. But also that we won’t run into a situation with only eight Bundesliga teams – and other traditional clubs missing out because they haven’t survived. Of course, you have to assess everything carefully, of course, health is more important than football. But that’s why I say: if the local health authorities say „okay you can play football with empty stadiums“ I would think it’s important for us to have enough time in order to finish the season in May or June. That’s why I think postponing the EURO was the right decision.

Now as you probably have seen, there aren’t many employees here at the BVB offices. Everybody works from home now. So we asked some of them if they have any question for you. Of course, I would like to do that. Even if it’s just three or four questions. You can be seen on Instagram with a dog sometimes. Is it yours?

Ju: It’s our… the dog… I mean it’s not MY dog (smiles)…she is with my family, yes. But it’s our family dog. Can you say that? A Family dog?

Family dog, yes. What race is the dog?

Ju: A mix. A labrador-hovawart… very, very sweet! „Nala“ it’s a girl. Very, very sweet.

Good. What’s your favorite spot in Dortmund – apart from the stadium? Perhaps a spot you visit with your dog…

Ju: I like the spot around Phoenix-See.

I guess there are more people around that area doing sport than on our own training ground.

Ju: I haven’t been there too often yet. I was only there three or four times since I moved to Dortmund, seven, eight months ago. But if you know the history around the area and how they transformed a former steel mill into this nice area – it’s impressive. Having a café there is something I will look forward to.

Okay. Who among the guys do you miss the most right now? Now I’m curious to know whether you are still within in the Dortmund team or if you leap over to Leverkusen…

Ju: (laughs)… ehmm… Can I do both. I mean I do sit next to Marco in the locker room. I mean, he was annoying – quite often (laughs).. it’s really something I missing sometimes I have to say.

Marco is annoying? How?

Ju: Yeah, he is really a crackhead. We do and try to cheer each other up once in a while. There was this one situation which I really celebrated myself – even though I was the victim. I left my cellphone at the pitch one time, while I took a shower. And this idiot taped my cell phone onto my locker, switched the video on and left. So I my phone was filming all the time I was gone – for like 15 minutes… and it’s like total nonsense stuff all the time with him. It has no purpose. (smiles) Yet that moment was funny. And yeah… it’s something that is missing.

We had ritual at ice hockey in the past: whenever there is a new player on the team, the other teammates well how can I describe it – they basically peed into one of his shoes.

Ju: Well, okay those were the really hard times… (smiles)

You haven’t felt anything, and so you dove into your shoe and… it was just disgusting. Those were the times. Something like this doesn’t exist anymore, right? Like team rituals?

Ju: If those existed, I wouldn’t tell you…. (laughs)

Aha, well you’re not as open as I thought (smiles)…

Ju: Yeah, but sure there are a lot of guys I’m missing. Guys I want to see again. Sure there are some guys I haven’t seen for a while now in Leverkusen, a few friends in Bremen. One friend of mine is stuck in Munich right now. A guy from Bremen is stuck with his girlfriend in Munich (laughs)… he can’t leave. It’s sad.

So because you weren’t as open as I thought, you will get two heavy questions.

Ju: Okay.

Okay. Let‘s start: „We read that you are a great fan of musicals. The Lion King is one you like. Is that true? Why? And can you sing something for us?“

Ju: First of all: that’s correct. And – it’s the most awesome musical out there! It’s the only one I have ever seen, but I’m pretty sure it’s the best musical of all.

Favorite song?

Ju: (thinks)… ehmm…

I think, I only know „Hakuna Matata“…

Ju: That’s awesome, right… „Er lebt in dir“ I would say. But I won’t sing it. (smiles)

Aha okay…

Ju: Because then I have to do like cool voices, since that’s what they also do in the musical and then I would look like an idiot.

Okay. Too bad. It wouldn’t have been bad.

Ju: But… you have never been to a musical right?

Me? Well, I mean I have been to musicals, but not „Lion King“.

Ju: Well, then you have missed something huge in your life (smiles). Something REALLY BIG!

But I always have to watch the movies with my kids.

Ju: Yes, but your kids… I’m telling you… they will jump in a triangle when they see this!

Really? Okay…

Ju: Yeah, there is even a new musical out now. Harry Potter. In Hamburg. It was supposed to open, but it’s canceled because of the virus. Unfortunately.

Oh well, you gave me some recommondations to go to, whenever everything is over. The second question: „You are one of very few football players, without any tattoos. Is that still the case?

Ju: That’s still correct, yes.

Why? And why still?

Ju: Still? Well because I have no idea what the future will hold. Sometimes I have wild thoughts, but I haven’t planned anything yet. So I think it will stay like this. Why? It became sort of a „running-gag“ now here in Dortmund. Especially on Instagram with many people wanting to see me and Marco Reus next to each other in the summer. Because we aren’t really football players who look terribly tanned, in comparison to others.

Are you sort of the guy who goes on a vacation and after three days you are totally sunburned?

Ju: Yeah, I have a sun burn the first two days; then it peels of and then I really look like chocolate! (laughs)… or half-chocolate (laughs)… my skin always likes to peel off (smiles)… like really bad. I remember having a really bad day once. It happened during my time in Leverkusen. We had just qualified for the Champions League two games before the season ended. So we – let me guess – had four or five days off. So I looked to [Bernd] Leno and said: „What would you say, if we just go to Mallorca for two days!“ Just to lay in the sun, of course. We stayed close to the airport. So we caught a really early flight. We went to the hotel. Just like a small hotel, where you can sleep. We went to the beach – and I fell asleep – ON MY BACK!

(laughs) awesome… the „crab“ on your back!

Ju: I tell you: you can’t imagine what was going on on with my feet! They were totally burned! I couldn’t get into shoes for three straight days. I was walking around Mallorca with bare feet. The problem was: at some point training started again! It hurt like hell when I was shooting! (smiles)

And the coach was…

Ju: Roger Schmidt. Funny story: he was also on the same plane with us (laughs). So I had to go through the whole „peel-process“ again and everything was fine.

How did we end up talking about this?

Ju: I don’t know…. How did we end up talking about this?

I don’t know! David is sitting next to us.

Ju: Read the question again!

[talks to David]

Ju: Oh yeah… tattoos! Because I’m a bit like a „light-skin“. Well, my mom sits in my neck once in a while. It’s what I said it once or twice in newspapers already.

Oh, and she says „No“!?

Ju: She doesn’t say „No“, she says „You can do whatever you want“. But she thinks it’s shit. She says „Believe me, everybody gets a tattoo right now! In the future you will be the only one without a tattoo and you are something special then.

It’s absolutely innovative! I mean imagine: in 50 years from now you will end up in a seniors home and you are the only one without a tattoo!

Ju: Up until now there is nothing planned – independently from the question whether it would fit to me or not.

So that’s it I guess. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?

Ju: No, but I really like chatting with you. But otherwise I would drive home, sit on a chair and stare against a wall. Is there something you like to add?

No. But I can give you grill tips.

Ju: Yeah!?

Direct grilling, indirect grilling… pizza on grill…

Ju: Awesome!

- END -

#julian brandt #julianbrandt #bvb #borussiadortmund #bundesliga #dfb #diemannschaft #German NT #bayerleverkusen #german football

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freerabbitmanandpig · 4 years

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My Friend With Parkinson’s

On Oct 1st of this year I was given compassionate release from Allenwood USP for (what was diagnosed as) an unspecified connective tissue disorder. I had served roughly 60 months of a 70 month sentence. To secure this extraordinary release my lawyer had sited the new emergency COVID increased risk criteria, pointing to my status of being prescribed immunosuppressants, as well as suffering from lifelong asthma. Being as that I’d been housed in a care-level 3 medical facility, most of my time had been spent around inmates with chronic conditions, many of them without a chance of making it home within the course of their natural lives. Conscious of the fact that many of these men lacked the financial resources available to my family, especially as the pandemic has left many people in the street without regular employment, I made promises to some of these men to attempt to get their stories out into the world.

Christian Tarantino (Reg. # 14684-050) is a middle-aged man that I met while in Allenwood. A gambler with a good sense of humor, who was generous with his friends and, while in the street, lethal to those who stood in his way. According to the FBI, back in the early 90s Chris was part of a crew that committed a number of armed robberies. In 2011 he was sentenced to three consecutive life-terms for the murder of a guard during an armored car robbery back in 1994, as well as the murder of one of the participants whom he feared would flip on him.

Criminals, conscious of their own status, tend to withhold judgement, and I’d be lying if the description of Chris as a “cold killer”, spoken to me with admiration by more than a few inmates, did not inspire this same admiration in me upon hearing the stories of his exploits. To be clear, I never personally heard Chris tell any stories about his case, or murder in general; the stories he did tell me were often funny ones about the club scene in NY, or his dog. The problem was that, when Chris spoke, I often had to strain to hear him. Still, the Parkinson’s had made him patient over the years, and he did not get frustrated when a person had to ask him to repeat himself, sometimes multiple times. No matter how long it took for him to finish the story, it was worth it to hear it all the way through – as I said, he was funny.

Chris and I had started talking more about his disease a month before my release, after having heard that the Marshall Project had published a short story of mine the year before. The problem, he’d told me one morning, was that a 15-minute analysis with the MD did not take in to account the fact that his PD fluctuated in intensity throughout the course of a given day. Even if you’re classified as a care level 3, you generally only get to see the facility’s MD once a year, with all subsequent outside appointments and medication adjustments being managed by your assigned PA. The key to adequate treatment lies then in the temperament of your PA. My PA was considered the best on the compound and was likely instrumental in getting me the workups and appointments I needed to secure my compassionate release. Chris’ PA was largely considered the worst on the compound (one of two), a bitter woman who often had to be compelled into action via administrative remedies, which Chris was inevitably forced to file. If he came to a sick-call and was not actively in the throes of intense contortions (which he sometimes referred to as ‘crazy legs’) then he was often disregarded. Chris and his PA were prone to devolve into shouting matches, nor was this a problem that she had only with him. Even when he wasn’t engaged in fighting the crazy legs, he was mostly still confined to his wheelchair. There were, on occasion, times when he felt in control of his legs enough to walk, albeit while holding on to another inmate’s shoulders. There was no shortage of willing shoulders, as inmates of all races would step up to ferry him, either to the computer room – where they would inevitable have to help him type his emails, or to the shower – where no handicap accommodations existed. This last omission struck many of us as particularly negligent, considering the yard’s care level. Another problem was the speech impediment. I’d often heard him ask, rhetorically, how it was that sounding like “a retard” when he spoke was not a clear enough indicator of the severity of his condition, regardless of the tremors. Of course ‘retard’ is not really the best adjective for any modern condition, but the point was still valid that, when he spoke, he sounded like a person recovering from a massive stroke – only he wasn’t recovering, Parkinson’s is a degenerative illness.

The prison had no choice but to provide him with follow-ups to the local neurologist after a highly invasive surgery, known as ‘deep brain stimulation’, in which a device, a ‘neurostimulator’, was implanted into his brain. This local doctor told Chris flat-out that he was incapable of treating him at this stage in his illness, nor is the facility capable of recalibrating his implant.

At night, a small group of us would walk to pill line to get our evening medications. I got Elavil and Gabba Pentin – the former for my interstitial cystitis, and the Gabba Pentin for more generalized pain. Chris, on the other hand, got a bunch of different pills, each with an Old Testament-sized list of potential side effects. To add insult to injury, the medical staff crushed most of his medications, as though this middle-aged man in a plastic, yellow wheelchair, barely able to get the cup of powder into his mouth, would somehow be able – or even willing, to cheek these many pills so that he could smuggle them back to the unit and…. What? For anyone curious enough to look, Federal Penitentiaries are full to the point of bursting with real narcotics. Who the fuck wants to sniff twenty different PD meds?

During these evening walks (some of our only time outside of the unit since the pandemic started) the subject of my pending motion came up on a regular basis. It was news, if nothing else. As for Chris, PD does not put him at an increased risk for COVID complications, and although I’d heard him, on occasion, tentatively breech the subject of outright compassionate release, his main request to me was that I put his story up, in the hope that perhaps someone else from the outside would get involved and get him moved to a medical facility. At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about falling down in the shower and bearing the indignity of calling for help, alone and naked on a wet floor that’s covered with other men’s piss and body hair. Before I was released, I wrote one final staff request for him to the medical coordinator attempting to get him transferred to a care-level 4 facility. This was not his first attempt to obtain such a transfer, and, for the purposes of the request, Chris provided me with a list of names of staff members who had seen him fall down, or else had helped him get back to his cell after an accident. It was a long list.

For a man who devoted a large part of his life to fitness, it’s a hard pill to swallow. In my mind I am stuck wondering what three consecutive life sentences (or a thousand for that matter) really means for someone like Chris, who’s own body has become a prison. In a sense I have an idea – back in 2017, my uncle Steven Parr – a successful and well known archivist in San Francisco, was diagnosed first with Parkinson’s, which was later amended to a diagnoses of Lewy-Body syndrome – a disease that bears similarities to PD. His initial suicide attempt was precluded by his manager, Adam, who was on the phone with my mother at the time. His second attempt, however, was successful. To me, though, the most poignant encapsulation of Chris’s attitude was made apparent when I was pushing him to the showers one morning. He’d removed his shirt before getting back in his chair, and I was struck by his apparent muscle tone and total lack of body fat, despite his sedentary lifestyle,

“Damn Chris, you’re in a wheelchair and still in better shape than half these dudes in here.”

“Yea..” he spoke slowly – struggling to force his tongue to conform to the consonants, “..this is the worst thing god could’ve done to me.”

In a way it was cruel how the progress in my appeal seemed to engender a sense of hope in some of the other care level 3’s working fervently, without the aid of outside capital or competent legal help, to obtain their own releases before the virus made it’s way to the yard. By Oct 1st the USP at the Allenwood Correctional Complex had 7 cases, all of them quarantined in the shu after having arrived on a plane, and then a bus, with who-knows how many others potentially infected. They’d already shut the medium back down as, despite their ‘best’ efforts at screening all arrivals, 15 cases had popped up in general population. As I already stated above, the administration fought me every step of the way – even after the motion had been granted and I was only awaiting the end of my obligatory 2 week quarantine, the staff refused to allow me to call my family, my lawyer, or even probation, so that I could arrange for transport. I didn’t know whether I’d be going straight home or to a program until the last minute. I could see it in their faces every time they brought me legal mail or were forced to set up my screening for the drug program that I’m in now – they didn’t think I deserved it. Like they had only just found out via the granting of my motion that they presided over an unequal system. I got 8 months back – goodtime I’d lost, along with years-worth of visits and phone calls - “privileges” they justified in taking almost exclusively over dirty urines, and for what? Suboxone. At my final workup the MD confided in me that, prior to the pandemic, they’d been told by the region to start preparations for the MAT program (medication assisted treatment) and to apply for the DEA approval to begin prescribing both suboxone and vivitrol. Unfortunately, these proceedings had to be halted to focus their energies on the then emerging public health crisis. Maybe it’s my prejudices, but itt seemed to me that these people took it personally – as though those reclaimed 8 months had come directly off the end of their own lifespans.

#jail #mass incarceration #parkinsonsdisease #social justice #criminal justice

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stories-mostly · 5 years

Text

Stark's Bug

Tony Stark x son!reader

I saw endgame on the 24th and all in gonna say is it sure was a movie and my knees hurt afterwards. (Please don't put any spoilers in the replies thanks) This is the last chapter before Iron man 2.

Words: 2188

Warnings: none

Chapter 14

Christmas Eve rolled around and you were too excited to go to sleep. That and the fear of having a nightmare again is what kept you awake. You hadn't had a nightmare in a week and 3 days so you assumed that it might happen again soon.

Repeating the same motions with your Captain Magic figure above you while laying on your bed got boring quickly. And the thirst was calling. Begrudgingly you went out to get yourself water or something.

The house was quiet beside your bare feet making noise as they took another step. The floor was cold for your blanket warm feet so you walked on your toes to avoid the feeling and the weird noise as much as possible.

Walking past one of the clocks you noted dully that it was already 11.27pm. Way past your usual dream land time.

You walked into the kitchen not expecting anyone to be in it. You jumped when you saw a man standing in it before realizing that it was your father.

Sharply you breathed out the shock and moved past him to get you a glass.

"What're you doing awake?" He asked vividly remembering having tucked you in a few hours back. You seemed pretty tuckered out then.

"I'm thirsty."

He hummed seeming concentrated on the drink he was making in your blender. It looked disgusting.

"What's that?" You pointed at the blender with the dark green thick liquid in it.

"A little healthy snack." He grimaced "Wanna try?" Suddenly smirking. He looked exhausted.

You shook your head, downing your tap water in two gulps, placing the glass in the sink after.

Tony followed your example basically inhaling the thing. He didn't look happy after.

"How is it?"

"Could be better."

The two of you just stood there in silence for a second. Tony looked you once over.

"You can't sleep, right?"

You nodded hesitantly. He smiled at that.

"Get dressed in something warm." He told you immediately turning to walk out of the room.

Confused you did as told and stood in the middle of the living room wearing your winter coat, warm pants and some boots over your Pjs.

Your father carrying several things came, took your hand without a word and started leading you through the house. Up some stairs, all familiar so far. He leads you out onto the highest balcony looking over the rought waves.

"Come on." He said waving at you to follow him.

At the point where Balcony and roof met was where he stopped.

"We're gonna climb up here." He explained hoisting you onto the roof and following soon after.

Climbing onto the highest roof of the mansion all the lights in and around the house turned off at once.

Your eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the newfound darkness only to find an incredible view.

There were thousands of tiny specks of light in an array of colours decorating the sky.

"Whoa," was the only thing you could muster to get out of your mouth.

"Right?" Tony was spreading out a blanket and pillows on the roof.

You looked back and saw him holding out a big box wrapped in Captain Magic themed wrapping paper. The box was longer than it was tall. Or taller than it was wide depending on how you propped it up.

"This is for you." Tony said as you just stared at the gift.

"What is it?" You took it and sat down on the blankets ready to tear through the thin paper.

"A gift." He smirked and told you to open it.

You didn't have to be told twice. With little effort the paper fell from the box and revealed the picture of a telescope on the side.

"This is so cool!" You jumped up and engulfed your father in the biggest Bear hug your small body could muster.

"Happy birthday Jesus." He said chuckling a bit at his own joke.

Both of you started to assemble your new telescope. Tony had already taken it out of the box once to get rid of all the unnecessary byproducts of the packaging. He had assembled and taken it apart before as well. Just to get it standing as soon as possible.

Within a minute or two your star looking tool was standing proudly before you already pointing at the sky.

All fatigue was gone as soon as you got a glimpse of the moon through the device. There was so much more detail to the moon than you could've ever imagined.

Tony smiled softly as you continued to steer the tube to the next source of light.

"Dad! Come here look it's a planet!" You waved him over in excitement careful not to move the Telescope.

With a grunt he stood up and waddled over leaning down to observe what you'd found.

"Wow that's amazing, Bug. That must be super far away."

Satisfied with his answer you grabbed your telescope again and continued exploring the universe.

In about half an hour you had found so many cool sights that Tony couldn't keep track of all the wow's and "look at this" he heard. Each time getting back up and looking at the star you wanted to show him. You were so excited he couldn't help smiling with you.

But the half hour was enough for now. Fatigue finally catching up to you.

"Let's go to bed, Bug. You're tired." He said softly when you sat down beside him.

"No I'm not! I wanna look at the stars some more!" You protested loudly, laying down on the thick blankets and staring up at the sky to make your point.

With a chuckle your dad copied your movements, laying his head down on his arm using the other to point out various stars.

"Do you know any constellation?" He asked eyes on the sky.

"Only the small dipper and big dipper."

"And where are they?"

You shrugged.

"I guess we'll just have to make up our own then." The next 15 minutes were spend pointing out various star clusters and assigning them a name. Together you named 6 constellations: Hero, Mermaid, dog, lane, spot and circle. Not very fascinating but easy to find.

"You see that star in the middle of nowhere?" He pointed to his right breaking the silence. You followed his finger up to the sky finding the lonely star.

"That's the one I'm gonna go built my new house on."

You giggled.

"What?"

"You cant do that! Stars arent made of dirt! It's like the sun! You can't build a house there." You said reciting all the things you had read about the sun and the stars.

"You don't know that! You were never there."

"I can check with my Telescope! It's not a planet!"

"Oh yeah? Then how come we can see other planets as stars?"

"Because...." you thought about it. That's sort of true. It could just be a planet or sort of moon from far away.

"You can't build a house there." You mumbled defeated.

"I can, and I will. Just you see Bug, one morning I'll be gone and you'll look through that telescope and see me wandering around on that exact star enjoying my new house. All, by, my,-self." He teased poking your side with his free arm. You laughed.

Silence settled over the two of you like a comfortable blanket. Tony shifted a little placing both hands beneath his head. You put your head on his arm and continued looking up. The universe seemed so much bigger when you directly looked at it like this. Like a thousand fairy lights strung along on the colourful ceiling of a dark room. Or flicks of white paint as finishing pieces of an amazing painting.

With some sweet thoughts about the universe you drifted off content and warm on the thick blankets and your warm winter clothes.

Tony smiled at the scene. His little boy laying content beside him, scooting closer as the cold seeps through his clothes. He wanted to move, it was way too cold out here for sleeping. But he wasn't able to. Frozen in place by his latest thoughts.

Carefully he checked if his son was actually asleep. He was, the little guy was in deep sleep his mouth hanging open and little puffs of air escaping it in regular intervals.

It was probably Christmas day already.

With a sigh he laid his head back down and stared up at the seemingly endless sky.

So this was it, this had been his last Christmas eve and will be his last Christmas. If he doesn't find a cure that is.

Tony was still in denial about the whole thing. He doesn't fully believe it yet, but he knows it's there. Just months after almost getting killed, he's slowly dying. Slowly being poisoned by the very thing meant to keep him alive.

That wasn't the worst part about it though. The worst part was that his mind was constantly telling him that he'll be leaving behind his very reason for fighting on. This fragile little boy full of emotions that he readily expresses. Plagued by nightmares about horrible thing he didn't want to reveal. Who wants to be friends with the world. And who slept in his fathers bed every night for the first 4 years of his life. For over half his life.

He was only 7. And Tony blamed himself for all the shit y/n had to witness in the small amount of time he had spent on earth. Not even a decade old.

With a shuddered sigh he picked up his son and brought him inside, dropping him off in his bed and removing the boy's warm clothes.

He cleaned off the roof and wandered down into the lab. He hadn't checked everything yet. There was still hope that he could survive, he had to. If not for himself then for his son.

The only human being that truly relies on his survival.

Bonus because I needed something lighthearted

Nickolas J. Fury had had a long day. Recently his agents were fucking up more than usual and a good chunk were currently on Christmas leave. So many in fact that he had to go out and deal with a bunch of wannabe villains himself. And now he was walking into the shield headquarters to complete a bunch of paperwork. On early Christmas day.

With an annoyed sigh he entered his office and stopped in his tracks at the sight before him. There was a package on his desk. Brown and unsuspecting. He took in his surroundings. Nothing seemed suspicious.

Fury stepped out of his office to look for someone who could maybe tell him about it. But the halls were empty. It was late at night after all.

He sighed and carefully walked closer seeing something written on top.

It was his name and the buildings address. And there was a return address as well.

"What?" He asked himself quietly. Why would Stark of all people send him a package?

The package looked like it had actually been shipped so it probably was from him. And wasn't just a weird joke.

Fury took his knife and cut through the tape holding it shut. Opening itcwith suspicion.

His face just grew more confused as he found a poorly wrapped box inside, everything was covered in loose silver and gold glitter. He lifted out the gift and found the glitter bomb that was a handmade Christmas card underneath.

When he lifted it wafts of poorly secured glitter fell off the front.

He shook it twice to get as much of that stuff contained in the box as possible.

Fury had a hunch on who sent the gift by the shaky child drawing of a decorated tree on the front.

He decided to sit down and read the card. Wrong move, as soon as he opened the card a spoonful of loosened glitter fell straight into his lap and onto his dark clothing. Fury tried to push the glitter off his lap with his free hand but some still stuck.

A frustrated sigh left his mouth when he gave up and read the card.

Dear Mr. Direk Director Fury,

I want to wish you a good Christmas and a happy new year.

You don't know me a lot but I would like to be your friend because you look really cool so I got you a gift for Christmas. Because we are not friends yet I got you something I like and hope you like it too. I told Phil and he said it was a good gift.

I hope you like it.

Your new friend, full/n-Stark

Ps I like your eye patch

Fury found himself smiling at the message. It was sweet and came from a place of certain innocence. He could forgive the glitter attack. It wasn't intentional.

Carefully he removed the wrapping paper from the box and opened the top.

Inside were several things. He took out a drawing first. It was of him and y/n next to a Christmas tree with the words we are friends written beneath with an arrow pointing at the figures.

The second thing that immediately caught his eyes was a stuffed animal. A tiger with a cape and the typical comic book eye mask thingy. The tag said it was from a children's series. The tiger was named Stripes.

And last but not least was a small, real tiny keychain of a orange tabby also in superhero gear.

Fury wanted to full on laugh while also cursing Coulson internally.

A cat. Of course.

He was gonna have to thank the kid the next time he saw him.

Tags: @shannonr2003 @art-estrange @nicholasbich @tater-thottie @tonystanktheirondad @gaylemonshark @emilaa2001 @kindahadeschild

#tony stark x male!reader #tony stark x male reader #male reader #male!reader #m!reader #marvel reader insert #tony stark x child!reader #tony stark x you #tony stark x reader #tony stark #reader instert #x reader #child reader #son!reader #tony stark x son!reader #stark!reader #starks bug chapter 14 #chapter 14 #stark's bug

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ievenranthisfar · 5 years

Text

Going Really Big At The Bigfoot 200

I’m only 165 miles in. Still more than 40 to go. Pain shoots up through the bottoms of my feet. Every step feels like the trail is covered in broken glass, but it’s just the early stages of trench foot setting into my waterlogged soles. For the last half hour I’ve been practicing meditative breathing—in throoough the nooose, outttt throooough the nooose—just to take my mind off the shudders of pain rippling through my body.

I might hyperventilate.

I’m so deep in the pain cave, I’m not sure where the entrance was. And it’s very, very dark in here.

Just then, a realization washes over my body—a glimmer of hope. I pick my head up and croak at my pacer, “Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

Who needs some sissy 135-mile race when you can go 206.5 instead, right?

Of Course

My obsession with the Bigfoot 200 started the moment I crossed the finish line at Western States in 2016. States is the granddaddy of 100-milers, after all, and I had just executed a nearly flawless race. It felt like the culmination of something. No 100 will ever come easy, but it felt like I had figured them out. I needed something that scared me again.

And that’s how, one Friday morning in August, I find myself standing at a starting line in the middle of a remote section of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. My mind is remarkably calm. There’s nothing to be nervous about; who can predict what’s going to come over the next 206.5 miles and 86,000 feet of elevation gain? I just have to let it happen at me. And it’s about to.

What it takes to run 200 miles apparently.

All smiles... at check-in. (Howie Stern)

My amazing (and still fresh-smelling) crew: Peter, Erin, Marc, and one big ole puppy. (Peter Dawson)

Laughing or crying? Hard to tell. (Howie Stern)

A whole bunch of idiots. (Howie Stern)

3!... 2!... 1!... Go!

A mass of 160-something bodies lurch off the starting line. Within 50 feet, I find myself out front already. Someone’s gotta win. Why not me? I say to myself, a mantra I adopted many years ago.

Leading already? (Howie Stern)

youtube

The first miles are generally easy. Soft, dusty trails under a tunnel of pines. Three of us—me, Ryan and Ben—pull out front on our own, chatting intermittently with the standard ultrarunning small talk.

As we break out of the trees and into the volcanic rock, Ryan pulls away. Run your own race, I remind myself. There’s about 200 miles left of it…

We’re on the south side of Mount St Helens, the volcano which famously blew in 1980, instantly ripping apart hundreds of square miles in every direction. Our route will take us through the barren blast zone where little has managed to survive.

Thar she blows.

As we gain elevation, we enter the field of volcanic boulders. Bubbly, black and sharp, the rocks are a jumbled mess, and I hop my way from one to another, following large wooden poles that define the route. It’s fun, and I nearly slip and slice my entire body open only twice. I’m wearing my trusty New Balance Summit Unknowns. They’re too minimal to go the full distance, but they’re perfect for the nimble scampering I need to do here. My poor gaiters are not as lucky, however. The sharp rock makes quick work of the cords that wrap under my shoes, and soon they gaiters are flapping freely around my ankles, letting in all the dirt they want. I chuckle to myself, Of course.

I make it to the first aid station, Blue Lake (mile 12.2), feeling good, aside from a couple of bee stings I’ve already acquired because, Of course. I fill all four of my bottles, dump ice into my ice bandana and shovel some watermelon and grapes down my gullet. The next section is going to be a long one. More than 18 miles in the open sun.

I’ve caught Ryan, but he takes off so I hurry to follow him. Run your own race, I try to remind myself.

The trail winds us in and out of pockets of forest, mixed with sections of skeleton trees. They stand bare and bleached in the sun—a whole forest of death. Seems like a good sign.

When the trail opens up again, I can see that we’re going to descend down to a big river. I pick up some speed, slaloming down the rutted trail and enjoying the ride.

Suddenly, WHAP!

It all happens so fast I don’t even understand. All I know is that I’m flat on the ground saying the word, “Oof.” I pick up my poles, and one of them dangles in the air like a snapped crab leg. Of course I snapped a pole 15 miles into a 200-mile race. Of course.

Embarrassed but unhurt, I take off again. The broken pole whips around with every bounce. It’s annoying. Finally, I devise a system where I tuck it under one arm while I use the good pole in the other hand. For a brief moment, I feel like Killian at last year’s Hardrock. Except he dislocated his entire shoulder, and you just snapped a pole, I hear myself say. Right.

The course moves clockwise up and around the volcano, and soon I break into blast zone. Vast, desolate, gray and dusty, there’s little life here and even less water. But despite the direct assault by the sun, I’m moving well and feeling good.

Of course I broke a pole 15 miles in. (Scott Rokis)

Things are strange out here. I discover an insect I name the Sprinkler Bug because, well, I that’s what I thought it literally was at first. It chirps just like those lawn sprinklers that spin slowly and then come back fast. Tct, tct, tct, tct, tct, tctctctctctct! At another point, we climb switchbacks up a massive ridge of soft gray dust. I’ve never been to the Moon, but now I don’t need to.

I’m rationing water now. I still have miles to go before the aid station, but my 80 oz is running low. The race directions said something about a water source at mile 16 of the section; I’m just praying I’m close.

A half mile later, I hear something glorious: water. Coming around a curve, I spy a grove of plant life bursting from the rocks. I break through it to see a tumbling waterfall. “Oh-ho yeah!” I exclaim involuntarily and out loud. I pull out my Katadyn filter bottle and greedily begin guzzling water. It’s so clear and cold I nearly get brain freeze. It’s a proper oasis in the middle of a desert.

After dunking my hat and bandana in the glacier-fed water, I bound off with new life. Eventually, the trail hits a dusty fire road, and I begin to climb up on my approach to the Windy Ridge aid station (mile 30.3).

Pole still broken. Because of couse. (Howie Stern)

“Can anyone do some surgery on a trekking pole for me?” I ask as I blow in waving my janky broken pole around in the air. No one seems to want to really be responsible for this fool’s errand, but eventually someone finds some duct tape and gets to work. I know there’s no way they’re going to be able to make it functional; it’s fully snapped in one place and smashed in another. But seeing as I have no crew for another 10 miles, I just don’t want it whipping around anymore.

The duct tape job is so bad that it’s funny. The poor volunteer has created a splint from a spare—but not straight—stick which is then wrapped in black duct tape a few dozen time. The effect is that my pole has grown a malignant tumor. But it’ll do the job. I shove a few potato chips in my mouth, thank the volunteers for their help and bound off.

The Chase

There’s a short out-and-back to get to the Wind Ridge, and by the time I complete it, I come to a confusing sign directing 200-milers to turn right. But there’s no right turn, just desert. Hmm. I run a little more until I come upon Ryan. He’s standing in the trail waiting for me. “I guess we go this way?” he points to the trail we’re on. It’s not a full right turn like the sign suggested, more of a very gentle branch. But we decide it must be right and take off together.

Ryan and I share the next set of miles together, picking up our standard ultrarunner chatter again. We cross washes, bushwhack through dense underbrush and just start to bake in the sun a little. Turns out he’s doing the Triple Crown (Bigfoot 200, Tahoe 200 four weeks later and Moab 240 three weeks after that). Now I’m really impressed but also a hair confused why he’s running out front like that. No mind, we push on.

The trail eventually begins to climb up as we point towards the observation point and our next aid station at Johnston Ridge, mile 39.9. I start to get a little wild hair and think, Eh, let’s push it. I ramp up my speed and start to leave Ryan. I find that being able to come into aid stations ahead of other people is a huge mental boost, for me and for my crew (which in turn is another boost for me).

The view of Mount St Helens and the blast zone, from Johnston Ridge. (Peter Dawson)

I get into the aid, grab a hunk of watermelon and find my godsend of a crew, Marc, Peter, and Erin, for the first time in 40 miles. “Wow! You look amazing!” they tell me. “I’m having fun.” “You’re blazing out there!”

“I’ve got an assignment for you guys. You think you can do some surgery on this thing?” I hold up my sad, dangling Z-Pole. Everyone stares at it. Yikes. Finally, Marc offers a solution, “Hey, I’ve got a pair of adjustable Lekis. Why don’t you just take them?” He shoves them into my hands. They’re new, pristine, never been used. I feel bad sullying them. But I think it’s about my only option if I want to finish this thing. God bless you, Marc.

I munch some pretzels and we change out my Summit Unknowns for my cushier Hierro v2s. They’re the biggest shoes I’ve ever run in, but I’m crossing my fingers that they’re going to save my legs because #166milestogo.

By the time I’ve switched shoes, figured out the new poles and fixed my fussy SPOT Tracker we’re all required to carry, Ryan has taken off ahead of me. I wave to my crew and the volunteers and go to chase him down.

It’s now late afternoon. The sun is high and the trail exposed. I’m pushing the pace to catch back up with Ryan, and I think to myself, I don’t remember it being this hot a few minutes ago. Maybe I’m pushing too hard.

I’m starting to question myself when I see Ryan a few switchbacks below me. I lock in and start careening downhill. It’s a little surprising how quickly I catch him. He sort of grunts a nice “Hey” at me, and I realize he’s hurting. And with that, I’m gone.

Over the next few miles, bodies of several 100Kers litter the trail. It’s hot, and the distances between aid stations are too long for inexperienced runners. Poor 100Kers.

I saunter into Coldwater Lake aid (mile 46.5) feeling good. Really good. I’ve been looking at my splits, and I’m almost an hour up on course record pace. Did not see that coming.

Getting prepped for the first night already. (Peter Dawson)

“Hi, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

“Bye, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

Headlight in pack, I roll out. This section to Norway Pass promises to be one of the hardest—20 miles, more than 5,000 feet of gain, all as the sun sets. But for now, I’m just enjoying myself. The trail follows the length of Coldwater Lake, and the trees give me reprieve from the heat that’s undoubtedly out there in the sun. Life is good.

After what feels like a few miles, I cross a bridge and start heading up switchbacks. Ah, the climbing begins. All along the trail bushes of various wild berries burst open. Huckleberries, blackberries, raspberries, thimbleberries. I pluck their gifts as I go hiking by. Natural trail magic.

Eventually, I top out and find myself high above the landscape below. The sun hangs low in the sky, and the trail snakes its way under ridges and peaks. Up and over a crest and suddenly the whole of Mount St Helens is laid out in the distance. The volcano has her own ring of clouds clinging to her. And in the golden hour, everything glows amber. I’m totally gobsmacked. I turn another corner and suddenly Mt Adams comes into view in the far distance too. My insides ignite with pure joy. It’s hands-down the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever witnessed. And I have it all to myself.

I’m totally alone for miles and miles. Up here. I’m on top of the world. I slow down and breathe it in.

Continuing on, alpine lakes unfold below me, hidden from the rest of the world behind a fortress of peaks. A third of their surfaces are covered in white. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Then I realize it. They’re massive tree trunks, bleached in the sun. The lakes are covered in them. They must be from the blast, killed off decades ago and left to float on the lakes. I know I’m the only person who will see these tonight, and I feel immensely lucky.

Just then I hear a screech. It’s high and sharp and echoes off the mountains. There’s only one thing it can be. Mountain lion. Oh heeeey.

The sun sets at 8:25, but I’ve always liked to run in twilight so I keep going without my headlamp, seeing how far I can get before absolutely needing it. Turns out I can make it all the way to 9:00. OK, I’ve tempted fate long enough, I say to himself as images of me eating shit in the blackness play in my brain.

Headlamp on, I top out again and seem to be heading downhill. There’s a quick out-and-back to tag the Mt Margaret peak. I’m sure it’s lovely in the daylight. In the dark, it’s mostly just very dark.

I careen downhill, eager to make it to the next aid. Finally, a faint light appears in the valley below. I remember a race report saying that the aid would be visible but still very far away. But after what feels like a few miles, it’s still very far away. Maybe that’s not it? It’s the only light I see out there in the inky night. But is that really it? After what seems like an eternity of “Guess-If-That-Light-Is-The-Aid-Station” I come upon a sign that reads “Norway Pass 1 mile”. Guess it is. And it’s still kinda far away.

Another down in and I come into Norway Pass aid station, mile 65.2. After being alone in the dark for so long, the sudden buzz of activity and light is a little shocking. Someone brings a blanket—it’s getting chilly now—and I request a cheeseburger and Coke.

There’s a boy of about six years old who’s very excited to see me. “I said he was going to be here soon, and then he showed up!” he keeps repeating proudly. “I said he was going to be here soon, and now he’s here! Do you want chili? Coffee?” He flitters around me like an overly excited mosquito.

For a moment, I think of my own one-year-old boy at home, and I’m taken out of the race. Watching this kid bounce around, I think to myself, One day my baby will grow up to be a super-annoying little boy, just like this one.

Into The Heart of Darkness

Burger in belly, I shove off again. The trail out of Norway is in bad disrepair. Bushes obstruct the trail and dead trees lay littered everywhere. At one point, the trail seems to dead-end into pure forest. I stop, feeling it’s wrong, but go ahead and push my way through a mess of pines. After 20 feet of thick bushwhacking, I turn around. I try a different entry point and push through. Another 15 feet and nothing. I turn around again. I try a third time, but nothing. This seems bad. Finally, I turn around and look behind me. There’s a hairpin turn in the trail at about a 350-degree angle. A ribbon sits squarely but invisibly in the middle. Ahh. In my frustrated state, I can’t remember which way I’ve come. Or more importantly, where I’m going. Everything starts to look the same. I pick the right side and start going. But it feels weird to be going uphill. I stop and turn around to try the other direction. I make it a little way down this direction before I see something familiar feeling. Now I’m very confused. Stop. Breathe. Think. I pull out my iPhone and switch it on. We were required to load the race into our Gaia GPS app before the race. Thank God. I look at it. Yep, I’m definitely going the wrong way. Score one for Gaia.

Heading back in the right direction, I start to feel better. The trail improves, and I enjoy some night miles once more.

The trail seems to be crawling with all kinds of thing. I see toads hop away from my feet. Salamanders wriggle under leaves. And bugs of all kind squirm everywhere. I’m not having hallucinations, but my mind starts to play a game where it makes faces out of every leaf or rock I step over. At one point, I look down a see a rock that’s clearly Zombie Barack Obama.

I’m enjoying my time so much that I forget the last time I saw a marking. They’ve been spaced rather far apart, but, Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention? I keep going, suddenly on high alert. Nothing. The trail begins to climb. A lot. For some reason, that doesn’t feel right. My hands are on knees as I’m pushing uphill. Where is the damn marking? I’m starting to panic a little again. But, foolishly, I keep going. The markings HAVE been really far apart, I convince myself, not wanting to admit what I’m fearing.

Stop. Breathe. Think. Common sense finally appears. I stop and pull out Gaia again. I’m off-course. By a lot. Somehow I’m on a parallel trail to the correct trail. (Unless GPS is placing me slightly off, and I’m really on the right trail?) I wonder if I can connect to the right trail if I continue, but that doesn’t seem likely. What if I bushwhack? Dense brush, going fully off-trail, not a good idea, my common sense rebuts. The only option is to turn around. So I do.

It takes me a long time to get back. At least 15 or 20 minutes. I’ve probably added a minimum of two miles to my race by the time I get back to what Gaia tells me is the proper trail. There, I find a three-way intersection. I see flagging uphill, where I came from originally. And then I see a flag pointing down the trail I’ve just backtracked on. Meaning, according to that flag, I was on course. But my Gaia is telling me otherwise. I look off to the only trail I haven’t gone. No flagging, but Gaia says it’s right. I cautiously proceed, wondering what the hell is going on. Confusion mixes with anger with just a dash of annoyance.

A ways down the trail, I finally see it: a flag. Finally. A little farther, another flag. Farther still, another flag. OK, I must be on the right trail. It starts to dawn on me that the flag pointing downhill at the intersection was placed incorrectly—maybe by a bad course-marker? But by then, I’ve already gone too far to turn back and fix it. I’ve already added enough extra miles tonight.

The side effect of the episode is that now I’m super paranoid. Suddenly I can’t trust any marking. Any time I go more than a couple of minutes without seeing a ribbon, I start to freak. The forest suddenly feels a little more sinister.

That’s right when a bird hit me.

It flies right smack-dab into my chest. OK, weird.

A few minutes later, I hear something directly off to the right side of the trail. It sounds big. Like, pretty darn big. But thinking it’s just a deer, I don’t worry, and it seems to disappear. Fifteen seconds later, I hear it again, it’s directly off to the right. Still. It’s paralleling me. I hear it crashing through the underbrush, still precisely off to my right. IS THAT BIGFOOT??? Objectively I know it’s not, but also, I mean, the race is named for him. Now I’m proper freaked. I begin shouting and singing nonsense, hoping Bigfoot hates my voice. He must because I don’t hear him after that.

It begins to rain now. Just a little. But enough to make the trail slick.

I enter a small, narrow canyon with the trail built onto a shelf. Or at least that’s the best I can tell from the beam of the headlamp through the rain.

Suddenly, through the darkness I hear, CRACK!

Holy shit, there’s lightning now??

The thunder sounds as if it struck just a few hundred feet to my right. Then I think, Wait a second. There was thunder but no lightning. That’s weird. Then it dawns on it. That wasn’t lightning; that was a tree falling. OH GREAT. I look up suspiciously. THE ENTIRE FOREST IS READY TO FALL DOWN AND KILL ME. If I was paranoid before, I’m out of my mind now.

Finally, mercifully, I make it to Elk Pass aid at mile 76.3, alive. I immediately start blubbering about the trail marking fiasco. “It’s somewhere near Badger Peak,” I tell the aid station captain. “Oh, I know exactly where that is. Same thing happened last year. Someone vandalized the course.” “Oh man.” “Yeah, these stupid local kids on dirt bikes go out there and switch up the markings. Think it’s funny.” It’s a bit of relief to know that it wasn’t my fault. But also, what the hell?

I sit down to regroup and eat some more real food for the first time in hours. As I do, someone asks if I saw any wildlife out there. “Uh, well, I heard a mountain lion, got hit by a bird and am pretty sure I was being hunted by Bigfoot.” It feels good to have a laugh and know that all that’s in the past.

The good news is that I’m still well up on my splits. The course record feels within reach. I’m going for it. I wave everyone farewell and head out.

But the stress of the night has taken its toll. I feel worked. A cold is slowly materializing in my chest and nostrils, adding to my general feeling of shittiness. Not only that, I’ve been relying on gels between aid station stops for most of this first day, and they don’t seem to be giving me everything I need.

The trail rolls, then climbs. I start to feel a little foggy. It’s now very, very early morning, that magical time when things get weird in a race. Fifteen miles to the next aid and my first pacer. I just have to make it.

Things get colder too. This is not fun anymore. A deeply awful feeling suddenly washes over me. This is impossible. It’s too much.

A terrible idea takes root: I’ve just run 70 miles. I HAVE TO DO THAT TWO MORE TIMES. All that I just did. Again. Twice.

The flame that’s been burning inside me suddenly extinguishes. Poof.

It’s not that I don’t want to finish; I just don’t know how. It’s just not possible.

It’s a black pit. I’m standing at the bottom of the Dawn Wall, staring up, no rope, no clue what to do. That task in front of me does not compute.

This is impossible. It’s just not possible.

It’s the first time I’ve felt like dropping in years and years. But it comes on so suddenly that I feel like I’ve been punching in the gut.

I begin formulating my exit plan. When is it OK to drop? Where can I drop? What will that feel like? How is my crew going to feel? The last question hits me. I realize how shitty it will be if I asked them to take off almost a week of their lives to come out in the middle of nowhere, just to have me drop. I start to feel really bad.

You feel bad for them? What about you?? a voice asserts. Just think of the time and training and preparation and—screw it—MONEY that YOU put into all of this? It’s true. It’d be pretty shitty to just give up this easily.

Plus… the voice winds up for its final knockout punch. There’s a pause.

Yes?... I ask.

You know you’ll just have to come back and run this again if you drop.

Shit. I know it’s right. And I am not about to come back and run this dumb race again. No way.

And with that, I resign myself to finishing. I’m back in.

I top out of the climb and beginning rolling downhill. In the fog—both metaphoric and literal—my legs work at an embarrassingly suboptimal pace. Picking my way down the rutted-out trail, I finally reach the bottom and spill onto a dirt road. I’ve made it to the mile 91.3 aid station, Road 9327

Marc, Erin, and Peter are there. “I need to sleep,” I announce. They hurry me into the back of the rented Suburban. Mercifully, I rip off my dusty shoe and slide into the trunk. “Get me in 15 minutes,” I mutter as they shut the Chevy-branded sarcophagus on me.

I close my eyes, and all I can feel is cold and the ribbed, plastic bed of the truck on my back. I shift left and right. Nothing makes me feel as sleepy as I know I should feel.

I remember advice from my friend Bryce who said he wasted an hour trying to fall asleep last year. I’m determined to not let that happen. After ten minutes of bullshit, I sit up. My caffeinated gels must be working a little too well. I knock on the window and beg to be let out. Oh well.

By the time I’m out, my breakfast is ready. Eggs, bacon, coffee. It’s glorious. I scarf it greedily. It’s amazing. Then it dawns on me: I need to switch to real food. These formulated gels and chews can only do so much for me. If I’m out here for two and a half days, I need good stuff on my stomach. I ask them to whip me up a quesadilla to go.

Day Two Dawns

Reluctantly, I strap my shoes back on. Time to go. At least I have Marc with me now. We say goodbye and amble down the mountain farther. The morning light filters through fog, and things feel a little better. We chat and catch up. It’s nice to share miles with someone again.

Meanwhile, back in the crew car... #vanlife (Erin Gardner Dawnson)

Marc has downloaded the course onto to his InReach. After a bit, he announces, “OK, I think we have this climb and then we head down to the aid.” We climb for a while longer. At one point, in the total middle of nowhere, we come across some senior campers out for a morning stroll. “You guys out for a running? Doing the one-mile loop?” We just stare at them, unsure how to answer. “No, we’re not,” is the only appropriate answer that comes out.

Marc checks his GPS again. “I think it’s just this climb again.” This climb seems to have been going on forever. And then it keeps going even more. And more. It’s getting steeper too. I have zero recollection of reading about a monster climb here in any course description. “Dude. What the fuck.” This thing does not end. I look up and only see more climbing. We keep telling ourselves that it must top out at the next bend. But every time we hit a turn, we look straight up another half-mile of trail. The cursing becomes more frequent and emphatic. Marc keeps promising that we must almost be there, but every time, I wind up heartbroken. Things start to feel impossible again. At some point, I cross the 100-mile mark without fanfare; I don’t even notice until much later. One hundred miles in 25ish hours. Fast for a 200. But a sub-24 had a nice ring to it.

After what seems like five times too long, we reach the top of Spencer Butte. (Or Spence Butt, as I’ve obviously named it.) Rather unceremoniously, we drop off the top and down towards the aid. It’s a long descent, but not nearly as long as the climb. Ragged, we pop out onto a paved road and the aid. Mile 102.5.

I sit, regroup myself a bit, eat some more food and then off we go. Marc and I patter down the paved road. In the sunlight, I don’t feel terrible, but I don’t feel good either. After two miles, we see the turn-off, a small foot trail that seems to drop precipitously off the side of the mountain.

“Is this even a trail?” Marc wonders aloud. We switchback down a very steep descent, covered with leaves. It’s a screamer. “I think the last time anyone used this trail was last year’s race,” Marc says. “Agreed.” But it feels good to be running again.

Eventually, we bottom out and snake our way towards the Lewis River. And civilization. We cross a road. We start to see cars, hear people, catch tents. After spending the last day in the backcountry, the sudden assault of other human beings is a shock to my system. People who have no idea what I’ve been through or what I still have left to do. Just people merrymaking and lazily cooking eggs over campfire and walking down to the river to get a glimpse. Their presence energizes me a little. After all, people equal an aid station nearby, right?

Marc and I hit a well-trodden path that parallels the river, running upstream. The water looks crisp. I fumble to get some orange-flavored Honey Stinger chews into me.

We must be getting close, I think to myself. Then I say it out loud. “We must be getting close, right?” Marc checks his InReach. “We have a little ways to go.” “OK.” We wind inland some, away from the water. Surely we’re headed into the aid. I ask Marc again, but he only deflects and tells me we have a few more miles to go. My optimism starts to sour. Somehow I’ve conflated the mileage of different aid stations in my head. I’m confused. The trail continues to roll. We head along some cliffs, hear a waterfall, pass more day-hikers. I grunt to acknowledge them. In my head I imagine myself to be a small slobbering hedgehog of a creature. It’s probably funnier in my head than it actually is.

Finally, after what feels more eternal than the previous eternity, we see a sign telling us that the Lewis River aid station (mile 112.1) is a few hundred feet away. There’s a series of signs, a Caribbean theme I think. I recognize a Jimmy Buffett quote, I think.

I throw myself into the folding chair. I made it. Well, I made it to halfway-to-making-it. At least I’m still in the lead, I assume, by a considerable bit. Nevertheless, I want to get out there quickly. Or, rather, I want to want to get out there quickly. It feels good to sit. It’s morning, and I’m eating chili. I change shirts. We wash my feet. I have a long debate with Peter and Erin about whether to change out my shoes to the next half-size up for swelling but ultimately decided against it. Then, I brush my teeth. Oh God. It feels so good. I’d been looking forward to that for about 100 miles now.

I’m patched together as best I can. I feel like spare parts, but at least I’m still well in the lead. With a wave, I amble out of the aid station, back down the hill and past the possible-Jimmy-Buffett quote signs, with Peter now in tow. Just as we near the turnoff to get back on route, a thick bear of a dude comes flying up the trail towards me. He flashes a smile and says hi. I’m dumbfounded.

We turn onto the trail, and then I turn to Peter. “That can’t be another runner… right?” “I don’t think so, man…” “I mean… I don’t think that was one, right?” I get a little more uneasy.

We drop down by Quartz Creek and begin following a trail that’s only slightly better than a game trail. At times, the trail turns and shoots straight up the hillside, leaving us clawing our way up, hands on knees. Then it inexplicably turns down and drops again. Then up and down and up and down, without purpose. It's beginning to feel a little maddening. Then again, I realize, it’s sort of a metaphor for this whole thing, isn’t it?

Rain begins to fall in spits. It cuts the air pleasantly, and I allow myself to enjoy it. But after a few minutes, I realize I’m starting to get soaked. No bueno. I stop to slip on my rain shell.

A few minutes later, we hear a sound over our shoulder. Within a minute, that same bear of a guy we saw coming up to Lewis River aid, goes shooting past us. “Nice job, guys!” he hollers as he sails off. Gut punch. He really was a runner after all—Wes Ritner, I learn later. Well, there goes that. I’m sad but mostly just jealous of how well he’s moving. Within two minutes he’s out of sight.

The rain subsides, and we keep up-and-downing our way along the creek. Finally, we get to a crossing point, likely the last water for another 15 miles. Peter and I stop on a jumble of rocks to filter water into our bottles. I look around at the forest, the creek, the two of us sitting there, and it feels just really pleasant. If I wasn’t 118 miles deep into a race, we could just be two friends out a little adventure hike. I savor the moment. The weight of leading the race has slid off my shoulders finally. Now I just want to finish.

We drink our fill, top off bottles and then press on. Several minutes later, as we’re picking our way through thick, razor-like thorn bushes, we hear a crashing sound behind us. It’s Ryan from before. And he’s flying too. He says a quick hello, asks if I’m OK—Geez, do I look that bad? —and then shoots off uphill.

The next few hours feel like more wandering. We claw our way uphill on the “trail” only to drop back down again moments later. It feels pointless, and I become angry with whoever designed this stupid, stupid trail.

Soft rain falls off and on, and I foolishly feel grateful for the change of pace. But it starts to chill as we make our way up to some road that’s supposed to materialize yet never does.

Pretty par for the race course. (Peter Dawson)

I’m starting to feel truly, deeply exhausted. I want proper sleep. “I’m going to lay down to sleep once the sun goes down,” I announce to Peter. I check my watch. It’s 6:28. Sundown is at 8:00. I can’t wait till 8:00.

We finally reach the dirt road high up on a ridge. It’s a mess. A combo of rains and ATVs have torn it up, in that annoying way that ATV tear things up. But I’m happy to be making progress at least. The late summer sun shines through the wet trees, bathing us in golden light. I’m starting to stumble a bit.

I keep checking my watch. 7:41. 7:46. 7:52. 7:55. 7:57. Finally, it’s 8:00. I can officially sleep, based on my totally arbitrary designation. I begin hunting for a spot to lay down, but the rain has soaked most of the ground. After another few minutes, I spot a small dry patch behind an island of trees in the middle of the trail. Sleep time! I take my pack off, make a little pillow with it and lay down. The dirt is lumpy but soft. I can’t wait to sleep.

ZzzZzzzzzZZ! Smack!

ZzzzzZZZzZZzZ! Smack!

ZZZzzZzZZZ! Smack smack smack!

Shit. Mosquitoes. Really??

I’m absolutely swarmed in mosquitoes. They assault every square inch of exposed, short-shorts flesh. I swat them in vain, convinced I’ll still sleep. My legs and arms are pricked and pierced mercilessly. Shit.

I dig into my pack and produce a long-sleeve shirt which I lay across my legs like some sad pair of pants. It obviously does not do the trick at all. I toss angrily. I give one more valiant effort to ignore the pest, but nothing is going to stop this assault. “It’s not going to work,” I tell Peter, sitting up. “Let’s keep going,” I say, defeated.

We arrive at the Council Bluff aid station (mile 131) in the dark. It’s starting to get cold, and I’m starting to feel properly wrecked. The cheery aid stations folks can tell. They plop me under a blanket near the fire and someone offers me chili. “Sure, thanks.” They bring over a paper bowl lined with a flour tortilla and then covered in a very corn-forward chili. The tortilla-under-chili thing confuses my brain, but I eat it greedily as best I can.

“Alright, I want to go soon,” I tell Peter. If I can’t sleep I might as well keep moving. Chain of Lakes is less than 10 miles away, with all my stuff and another chance at sleep.

“Hey, you need to eat some more,” a volunteer comes barreling over to me.

“I’m good, really. I just want to keep moving.”

“No man, you need to eat more food.”

“I have been eating.”

“Listen, dude, I’ve run a lot of races. I’ve DNF’d before. You need to eat more.”

Weird flex.

“I don’t. want. food. I want to go.”

“I’ll get you some M&M’s.”

“Dude. I’m good.”

He continues to brag to me about running a 36-hour 100-miler or something. I guess if he’s trying to prove his prowess at being bad at ultras, I'm convinced. Either way, he won’t let me leave, and I’m starting to get really annoyed. The other volunteers can sense the weird scene unfolding. One of the volunteers offers, “How about some Oreos?”

I can sense that this woman is just trying to help me get out of here. “Sure,” I acquiesce.

I leave annoyed, with a paper towel sleeve of three Oreos, muttering to Peter.

The next hours drift hazily at best. We roll along, just trying to bide our time until Chain of Lakes. My head cold from before has fully bloomed into something serious. I shoot snot rockets from my nose every few minutes, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Cool.

As we climb up to a paved road, there’s a promise of civilization. Road signs tell us of Takhlakh Lake and its campground nearby. I assume that it’s part of the Chain of Lakes so we must be close. Really close.

Along the sides of the road, we see white frost delicately forming. It’s frigid and exposed on the road. We slip on gloves and await the aid station’s arrival. But instead of turning down the obvious road to what had to be the aid, the flags point us past and then turn off the road entirely and into the woods. It must just be a quick jog through the woods to get to the aid on singletrack, I think. But the aid never comes. Peter looks at his watch and tells me it must just be another half mile. But that passes. And passes again. And we’re still not there. I can feel despair setting in again. I foolishly say I’ll wait to eat food till I get to the aid station because we must be so close. When too much time passes, I fully stop in the middle of the trail to eat. My bar is rock hard in the cold.

Just then, we see lights. Within minutes, Jordan Chang and his pacer on upon us. We exchange a few pleasantries, and then they scamper off. He looks awesome. I feel like shit.

Ten minutes later, the trail spits us out onto a small road. We’re there, finally. I’m energized by making it this far. One-hundred and forty miles. The aid station is dead. After all, it’s 2:00 in the morning and below freezing. Erin and Marc are excited to see us, and I happily take some soup and quesadillas from the hearty volunteers who have shaken themselves awake on my account. But my focus is sleep. Marc informs me that his puppy has somehow popped the sleeping pad. “I don’t think it’s going to matter, man,” I say, fully exhausted.

I clamber into the back of our Suburban, remove my shoes and socks, slide into the sleeping bag and tell them to get me in 20 minutes. I’m very excited for sleep.

But almost immediately, I learn that I was wrong about the sleeping pad. The trunk of the truck is cold and hard with long, plastic grooves. It’s surprisingly uncomfortable, and the knobs of my bones feel like they’re poking out everywhere. It’s also freezing. I toss and turn, trying to find some position that doesn’t suck. Mostly I’m amazed that I don’t fall asleep. I never have a problem sleeping in real life. I start actively thinking about sleeping. I have to sleep. Yeah, no shit. OK, sleep now. Nothing. OK… sleep now. Nothing. OK, sleep… NOW. This is not looking good.

Just then there’s a bang on the back window. “Hey man.” It’s Marc. “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Wha?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Uhh, I don’t think I slept?” It comes out as a question. “Gimme another 20 minutes, OK?”

“OK.”

I return to my latest impossible task. I try to force myself to sleep for another ten or fifteen minutes, but to no avail. Finally, I give up and drag myself over the back seat of the car and spill out the door, shoeless. The gravel in the parking lot is cold and sharp on my battered, naked feet.

My crew seems a little concerned to see me. But I’ve already moved on. I’m just not going to sleep at all I guess. With a little too much effort, I slide on a pair of light tights and a jacket. I guess we’re still doing this…

When Hell Freezes Over

Marc and I give a wave and thank the volunteers before shoving off into the dark. We quickly hit some winding, descending singletrack. It feels nice to be moving well again. Soon thereafter, we hit the first of our three river crossings. It’s 3:00 am.

Bundled up for the night. Or so I thought.

The water isn’t high, but it feels glacial. I yelp as I slip my legs in. The cold wraps up to my mid-thigh. A minute later, we emerge on the far other side, water-logged.

The next two crossing come fairly quickly and are equally unpleasant. But at least we’re done with them, I think.

The trail soon becomes a little less distinct, and it feels like we’re meanderingly aimlessly through dense forest. Thick, lush underbrush, heavy with the evening’s rain spills over the trail, and we’re doing whatever one level below bushwhacking is. We continue like this for some time, and I start to realize that I’m getting wet. The water-bedazzled foliage shows no signs of letting up, so we stop to slip on rain jackets.

I’m getting cold. Like, really cold. My teeth start chattering. Then they start chattering really loudly. My body starts shaking. Why is my body shaking? The underbrush doesn’t let up. Neither does the shaking. I start to feel like shit. Like, really not good. This is not good.

Marc pushes on in front of me. As I fall behind, I realize something is very wrong. I weakly squeak out to him, “Hey man, I’m exactly sure what hypothermia is… but I’m pretty sure I have it.”

In the moment, I couldn’t access the file in my brain labeled “hypothermia.” I couldn’t recall what it was. But it seemed like this must be it.

Marc spins around and sees me. Hypothermia confirmed. “Put on everything you have,” he instructs me. I don’t have much more in my pack, but I zip up my rain jacket completely, to that awkwardly high point that rain shells zip to. Only the round of my face peeks out. “Can you eat anything?” I pop a Gu. It’s cold and thick and caramelly and a terrible flavor.

I can barely speak through my chattering teeth. My body spasms violently. We just have to move. Help is not coming. The Klickitat aid station is mile 158.1, almost 20 miles away from Chain of Lakes. I just have to hold on till morning.

We start moving again. My body is revolting against itself. I feel frozen down to my bones. I realize my breath is escaping unused into the air, so I pull my jacket up over my mouth and breath down into it, blowing warmish arm down the front of me. I’m not sure if this is actually doing anything, I think to myself. But at this point, just the fact I’m able to come up with any sort of attempt at a solution feels like a win.

Time passes. The clattering and shaking continue. I eat an extra gel. How does this all end?

Finally, we start to see the first glimmer of morning light in the sky. We hear a bird. Then, another. Morning is coming. We couldn’t have hit the river crossings and wet underbrush at a colder time—the dead of late night—but the day was slowly clawing its way back.

Eventually, my shivering slows and finally stops. I’m still cold, but I feel like I have my body back, at least a bit. I’m still alive. What a weird, horrible dream.

In the morning light, we climb up to an empty paved road. I get that disorienting feeling of seeing something manmade again. Across the road, the trail drops into a forest. We drop down too. I find myself moving decently again. The forest feels huge. Giant redwoods tower overhead. It’s dank and dark. The air hangs heavy with the glorious smell of wet, rotting wood. Green and brown. Everything else that has happened melts away. I feel like I’m in the presence of magic. My mind tries to wrap itself around where we are, but it can’t. The only thing I think of is that we’re truly in the middle of nowhere. I suddenly become very grateful. I’m far out, way far out here.

We wind through the forest for a while before spitting out on a series of dirt logging roads. Their presence feels jarring and blasphemous.

We cross another paved road and begin to climb a hill. A very steep hill. We quickly realize that we’re starting our climb up to Elk Peak. The last test before we reach aid. The thought energizes me a little. I pop in my trusty iPod Nano loaded with music from 2012 and start power hiking.

The high dissipates after a mile, and it’s just really fucking hard again. Then I feel it, a twinge in my left heel. My Achilles. Literally. It’s my nemesis. An injury that’s haunted me for years. I instantly worry. Any weird step and it could be the end of my race. The only upside is that I can’t believe I’ve already gone 155 miles with zero problems. Look at you thinking positive!

I slow down, hoping to be kinder to my stupid leg. The climb drags on. Every time I’m sure that we’re topping out, the mountain keeps going. It’s not just false summits. It’s tiny false peaks that raise before us. First, it’s annoying. Then it’s infuriating. Then, eventually, it’s just hilarious. Our frustration gives ways to pure, hysterical acceptance of our situation. A running joke, about running.

Just as it seems that we can’t possibly hit another false peak, we see another, rocky peak rises in front of us. But this one is different. It’s an out-and-back. Our out-and-back. We scramble up the sheer, angled rock and finally arrive at our goal.

The view is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. We’re surrounded by it. In 360 degrees, the Cascades stretch out around us. Dense, green forests. Rocky, gray peak. Wispy, white clouds clinging to them all. I remember the course description, word-for-word. “Look out from Elk Peak at Helens, now so far in the distance. And Adams, once so far away, now so close.” My mind searches to understand what I’m looking at. Adams is right there. And Helens is so far away. I think back to days? weeks? months? ago when I was next to Helens and Adams was so far away. I’ve traveled 155 miles on my own power. How am I supposed to understand that?

Just a taste of the Cascade, savored by other runners. (Scott Rokis)

I suddenly don’t care about racing anymore. I feel like I’m floating. As we descend of the slightly-sketchy rock face of the peak, another runner and pacer amble up. They’ll pass us on the way down to Klickitat. Oh well.

We bomb down to the aid, getting passed on the way in, of course. I can’t wait to get my still-soaked shoes off for a short respite. They’ve been drenched since the river crossings. Finally, we pop out on a small dirt road in a break from the trees. It’s startling how bright and warm it is. I'm not sure what time of day it is, but it feels like mid-afternoon. But maybe it’s not.

A very nice woman with a thick Eastern-Bloc accent attends to me. We explain the hypothermia and soaked feet, and they lay me up a reclining camp chair. A medic introduces himself and starts to work on my feet. They’re mushy and soft, with deep trenches running through them. He rubs them down with alcohol and sets up next to a gas-powered heat lamp. In the openness of the harsh sun, the heater feels vulgar and awkward.

I sit for longer than I want. But I don’t care. I’ve just been out there for 20 miles. And I have another daunting 20 to go before I see my crew and gear again. Jordan comes in (He must have slept somewhere. Lucky.) He leaves before me. The Eastern-Bloc woman offers to rub down my legs. I don’t particularly want it, but she seems very into it. She spends a lot of time on my calves. It’s getting weird.

After what feels like half an hour, we finally gather our things to leave. My feet are dry now, but despite our best efforts, my shoes are still woefully waterlogged. The moment I slip them back on, I feel the squish. Great. All that’s left to do is keep moving.

We thank everyone for their hospitality and slide off into the forest. The dark, foggy forest has given way to a bright, open one. Hyped on the aid station stop, I feel good, and we start to crank again. We roll through the hills, underneath the ancient pines. Things are looking up.

That’s when the mosquitoes hit. Not just a swarm. A cloud. They descend on us, thick and swirling. Never in my life have I seen anything like this. I swat them away, and I feel like I’m batting at seagulls. They nip at us. We shriek and try to outrun them. It’s no use. They’re everywhere.

After all these miles, it finally dawns on me: This race never gives you a break. As soon as you start feeling good at any point, you’ll suddenly get blindsided by some totally unforeseen thing that smacks you across the face and leaves you crying foul.

“I’ve got some wipes!” shouts Marc. Moments later, he produced two individually wrapped Off! wipes. God bless him. I’ve never seen mosquito wipes before, but I decide right then and there that they’re going in every race pack I ever carry from now on. We tear them open and frantically wipe our entire bodies down with them. Almost instantly the mosquitoes disappear. It’s a miracle.

Mosquito-free, we’re now left to make our way through the forest. The trail begins to wind up and down steep hillsides in seeming random fashion. I feel lucky to have Marc with me. I’d hate to be out here without him. I tell him that. “This is really remote, man. Like, really remote. If you got in trouble out here—like serious trouble—you’d be fucked.” I say this knowing we have still have 15 miles to the Twin Sister aid. I try imagining being out here without a pacer, but I can’t.

It’s hot now. I remember something about how the description said there was no water in this section. Marc pulls out his InReach and spies a small lake just off-trail. We make a small detour to refill our bottles, but mostly to just dump water over our heads. It’s a rare moment of pleasure.

It’s late afternoon, I think. Things start to get really fuzzy. I’ve now been up for two and a half days. No sleep. Hypothermia. A bad cold. Other stuff, probably. I can’t think straight. I just need to be at the aid station. It’s hours away. My waterlogged feet feel like I’m stepping on shards of glass with every step.

Marc is talking, but I sense myself snapping at him. Nothing’s funny anymore. Or fun. All I feel is the need to be somewhere else. I snap at Marc again. For a moment, I have clarity. I pull out of myself and see what’s happening.

“Hey dude, I’m really sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m literally in survival mode right now.”

I realize I’m no longer in control. My body has taken over. We’re in full “flight” mode. The only thing that Andy Pearson—the organism, the collection of cells and DNA—cares about right now is pure survival. I’ve lost agency over myself. The animal is taking over.

We start breathing through in through our nose… out through our nose… in through our nose… out through the nose. It’s loud and raspy. I realize we sound insane. But it’s the only thing that’s taking our mind off the pain in our feet, any bit. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose… It’s working, a little. We’re running at full speed now. But I’m also feeling dizzy. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this up. But at this point, we don’t care. We just need to not be here right now. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose…

After about 30 minutes, I realize we’re actually going to pass out, and I pull on the brakes. We slow to a walk for a bit. My brain comes back online a little bit. I’m back in control.

“Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

The afternoon wears on. We work our way through the forest. The aid station feels impossibly far away. At one point, Marc takes out his InReach and says we’re not too far away.

The landscape opens up, gets a little rocky. I’m beginning to teeter.

Another swarm of mosquitoes descends on us. Our Off! wipes must have worn off, and Marc doesn’t have any more. We pull out the old used ones he stuffed in his pocket and try to rub ourselves down again, but it doesn’t seem to work. We just have to run faster. Marc takes off. I can’t keep up. A massive hill rises in front of us. I can’t do it. Marc’s gone. Fully gone. He’s bounded up the hill. I’m at the bottom of it.

I suddenly feel alone. Utterly alone. I can’t believe he just left me. Despair floods in. I’m angry at him. I know it’s not fair. He’s out in the middle of nowhere getting his ass munched on mosquitoes like me, while he clocks 50-something miles to support my ill-advised misadventure. But it doesn’t matter. I feel so utterly fucking alone.

I trudge uphill. A hill that seems to never end. I sit down on a rock in protest. I can’t move. I wait a few minutes and then pick myself up again and trudge off. I make it to the top of the hill but don’t see Marc. A few more minutes, and I find him, waiting for me. He apologizes for jetting; he was just trying to get out of the mosquitoes. It’s total fair, and I push down my anger. He’s out here for me.

We move on. The sun sets. We’re back in the forest. Marc’s been with me since the middle of the night to the next day now to the next night again. And we’re just trying to go 37 miles. Damn.

We near the aid station. Or at least we think so. We’ve taken a turn-off, which should be a sign. I’m starting to get really wobbly. The lack of sleep, the distance, everything is compounded. I go through periods where I’m just not there. It’s something akin to blacking out. I’m coming full unraveled. My have never been in so much pain. I don’t actually know how I’m going to take each new step. I black out again momentarily.

The trail become narrow in places with tight ledges and drop-offs below. I think about how I’m glad to have a pacer and how it’s good I’m not super messed up right now. I wobble again. Maybe I am messed up. I can’t tell. I black out again. Probably. I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can finish this thing.

Finally, we turn a corner and see the aid below. Holy shit. We’re here.

I stumble into the Twin Sisters Aid Station (mile 177.5) feeling like I’m floating. Everything is surreal. But I’m seated in a camping chair. A hamburger materializes in my hands. I can’t believe how good I suddenly feel. I’m not running anymore. I’m safe. My brain and body relax. I start cracking jokes with aid station people.

That’s when someone pops his head into the tent. “Welcome, welcome! Tell me what’s going on.” He grabs my arm. “You got a hamburger, great. What’s going on? My name’s Mark. I’m going to help you out.” He grins widely. His breath smells of whiskey. I realize that he’s totally hammered. “We’re going to take good care of you. Let’s get those shoes off and see those feet.”

He wrenches wrestles my shoes off. My soles are a horror shoe. White, puckered, fleshy, with deep crevices running through. “I’m so excited to have you here!” Mark the Medic twitters. “I wait all year to come up here and help you crazies patch up your feet.” He’s an odd bird, but very sweet, and I don’t care. Anyone willing to take care of my 180-mile feet is an angel. Mark and his assistant go to work.

They do all sorts of things to my feet. What? I don’t know, but it seems like magic. I just huddle under my blankets and munch on my hamburger. It feels weirdly nice to be fawned over like this. I’m warm and safe. Pleasure radiates from my brain.

Masticated feet are hilarious! (Peter Dawson)

Not so funny anymore. Look at how white my feet are. (Erin Garnder Dawson)

We talk about my hypothermia, and Mark tells me that my body was probably just so worn out it couldn’t produce its own heat anymore. That was almost 20 hours ago at this point, but obviously I was still compromised. On top of that, my head cold is full blown now. Snot and other things are pouring out of me, and my voice fades in and out barely able to escape my throat. If John Mayer’s girlfriend’s body was a wonderland, mine is the opposite of that.

“I need to sleep,” I tell them. Somehow, this time, I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem. Mark says they have a tent all set up for me with a cot. He and Peter help me up and lead me off into the dark. They deposit me into a small tent with a cot and sleeping bag waiting. “Here,” Mark says. “Wrap yourself around this.” He hands me a Nalgene full of hot water. “It’ll help bring your core temperature up.” I put it in the bag with me. It’s very warm. I’m instantly worried that I’m going to pee myself, but don’t think much past that.

“This is so cool,” I tell Mark and my crew who are staring down at me on the cot. They look inquisitively. “I’ve never been this messed up in a race before. Like, I’ve always seen people laying on cots and stuff. But now I’m actually getting to be one of them. It’s never happened before. This is so cool.” They laugh, knowing I’m insane. I probably am.

I tell them to get me up in 90 minutes. They leave. For a moment I worry that I’m not going to be able to fall asleep yet again.

Suddenly I slip into inky, warm blackness.

Resurrection

I sit up straight in bed. Time to run! I think excitedly. I look down at my watch. It’s been exactly 89 minutes since they left me in the tent. Just then, I hear a ziiiiip at the door. Peter pokes his head in. “Hey man, you alive?” “Yeah man,” I grin. “I’m alive.”

It’s turned dark outside. I hobble out of the tent, happy to have not peed myself. Back in the aid station tent, I feel like a totally new person. Mark the Medic checks my feet again, giving them a once-over. “Look at those things! Beautiful!” he exclaims. “Almost good as new!” I had to give it to him, they did almost look like they hadn’t spent the last 20 hours soaking in water.

Twenty-nine miles left. Easy-peasy. I gather my new gear, scarf another half a hamburger. During my downtime, I’ve managed to slip to tenth place. I’m just happy to be alive, so I take my sweet-ass time.

Finally, I’m ready. Peter’s ready. We wave a merry goodbye to everyone, and we’re off.

It’s a 2.7-mile trek back to the main Klickitat Trail, all uphill. I run it. I don’t just feel good. I feel great. Holy shit, I think. We cross paths with a few runners coming downhill to the aid, and I cheerily say hello. I even start to drop Peter a little. Maybe it’s because of my 180-mile warmup. Either way, we top out much more quickly than I expect.

Back up top, we fly down the trail, catching up about everything that’s transpired in the last 20 hours or so. The night is cool—not cold—and we soon feel pleasantly warm inside our clothes. After a few miles, we hit the short out and back to Pompey Peak. We climb the switchbacks up to the bald rock peak. Everywhere around us, we can sense the mountains and the tree, and we joke that it might be a lovely view. But in truth, it is. The sky is an explosion of stars above us. We linger a moment, savoring the rewards of our deep labor.

Another runner takes in the night sky on top of Pompey. (Scott Rokis)

“It’s all downhill from here,” I tell Peter as we drop off the top. And it’s true. The trail eventually turns downward, and we begin descending quickly. Just as I feel like maybe I’m home free, we come to a massive downed tree laying across the trail. I groan with annoyance, but in the grand scheme, it’s not so bad.

I detach my/Marc’s Leki poles, pull myself up and top, reattach the poles and then use them to hop down on the other side. We continue on. A minute later, we come to another tree. Argh. I do it again.

This time, when I clear the tree, I see another one just a dozen feet again. And then there’s another. And another. It’s an absolute mess out here. Fallen trees everywhere. Fallen trees that fell over more fallen trees. Each time, I have to detach my poles to free my hands to climb over. Each time, I grunt. Each time, it sucks more and more.

I don’t remember anything about this in the course description, I tell Peter. But here we are.

“I didn’t really expect to be doing fucking parkour at mile 185.”

Any happiness that I was riding before has been totally sucked out of me. I’m annoyed and miserable again. Then, I realize that I’m annoyed and miserable. I pull out of myself to see what’s happening. I remember my revelation from earlier. The moment you feel good out here, the race punches you in the face. No, I think. I’m not going to give in. I fight against the anger—not super convincingly—but I fight nonetheless. I don’t let it take hold.

It lasts for maybe a mile and a half. (It’s hard to have any objective understanding of distance at this point.) It’s awful. But I don’t give in to the anger. What’s the Yoda quote? “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Well, I was already suffering so no point in throwing the other three in, right?

Eventually, the trees thin out and the trail flattens. We emerge from the forest into… green. Just all green.

We’re in a green tunnel. Green grass underneath, overgrown green grass to our left and right, green trees beyond that. We’re on what appears to be an old road, now reclaimed by nature. There’s a slight downhill grade so we just roll with it. It’s nice to be getting easy miles in again. It’s also, just really… green. It’s all we can talk about. Our headlamps enhance the strange tunnel-ness of it all. I use it as fuel, ticking my speed upwards. Time to get this shit done.

The green tunnel seems to last forever. I’m running my face off. After a while, the monotony of the speed and vegetation creates mental drag. I occasionally stop to walk for a minute or two before picking the pace up again.

After an hour(?), we see something in the distance. Something manmade. It must be the aid station. As we near it, it gets smaller and smaller. Once we’re finally on it, I realize it’s a table stocked with bottles upon bottles of tequila. Gag. “Oh, this is the surprise that Candice promised out here.” I think back to the pre-race briefing where the RD hinted that she might have a surprise out here for us. For some reason, I figured it’d be someone in a bigfoot suit to scare us. I’m momentarily grateful because I don’t think I could handle that shit right now. Either way, there are a lot of nonsensical things about this sport, but ultrarunners’ fascination with taking a shot of tequila late in the race I will never understand. Needless to say, we do not partake.

On the upside, I assume this is a sign that the aid station is close. Ten more green minutes later, we round a bend, and the Owen’s Creek Aid Station (193.5 miles) comes into view. It’s all flood lights, heat lamps, and sizzling bacon. There’s also another—shall I say, “difficult”—runner already there. His family stands around him, trying to appease his whims. He snaps at them, complaining about stuff. I’m just happy that it looks like I’ll be moving up a place.

I want to get out there fast. I grab a plate of eggs and bacon—because, fuck it—and coffee—because, also fuck it. I finish half of everything and then declare it’s time to go.

The End

Thirteen miles to the finish. I check my watch again. It’s around 4:30 in the morning. All day my goals have been slipping. From CR to winning to sub-60 to just staying alive. But now with 7:00am on the horizon—meaning a 70-hour finish—I have a something to shoot for again. It’s going to be close though. I check my race plan, just 385 feet of elevation gain. Hell yeah.

Peter and I barrel down the gravel-and-rock road. It’s two miles to the paved road and the final leg of my journey. We make it to the road and turn left. Pavement. Civilization. Weird again.

As we pound the road, we can feel the earth starting to slowly awaken. Sunlight yawns and gently shakes the slumber from its eyes. Clouds of mist billow and rise from meadows next to us. Sleepy cows stare back at us, suspiciously. I feel alive myself.

The road is remote and desolate. There’s no shoulder whatsoever, so we find ourselves hugging the sides, hoping no one comes barreling around a curve. It’s Monday morning, after all, I think to myself. What will someone on their way to work think if they see my bag of bones shambling along the road? And then I think, Holy shit. Monday morning. People are going to work.

But I have a deadline to hit. I can smell the barn. I’m cranking. In fact, I start to pick up speed. I feel like I’m flying. I feel like I’m running faster than anyone’s ever run before. I’m in a full-out sprint.

Just then, I realize there are mile markers along the roadside. Great. I can see just how fast I’m going. I hit a mile marker and note the time. A few minutes later, I see the next one. I check my watch again. Well that can’t be right. Ten and a half minutes? I note the time again. The next mile marker comes. Eleven minutes?? I feel like I’m running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. Really, I’m running 11-minute miles. Cool.

All things considered, it’s still pretty fast. I guess.

And it was because a few minutes later, we come upon another figure gimping along ahead of us. He’s listing ever-so-slightly to his right side, as all ultrarunners like to do at the end of a race. And he’s alone. Ouch.

“Hey.” He greets us. “Hey. Are we on the right side of the river?” Oh boy.

“Yeah. This is right.”

“Oh, ‘cuz I thought we were supposed to be over on that side.” He points across to the opposite bank, far away, which has just disappeared from view in a jumble of forest.

“Well, that’s where we’re going. But we’re going to get up to another road and then turn to take a bridge over it.” I can’t believe I can recall all the details of the course three days in. Wish I had remembered something about all those downed trees…

Our friend is still confused, but at least he’s moving. So we bid him adieu and press on. Eighth place.

I like the number eight. That sounds good to me.

We pick our speed up again and start flying (relatively speaking). Eventually, the road passes a cluster of house, barns, and garages. More civilization. A good sign.

We turn onto a more major road. Another good sign. I can see the map in my head. I’m so close. So close. Holy shit I’m close.

At some point, Peter tells me he has to stop to take care of “some business” but tells me to keep going, and he’ll catch up.

Suddenly I’m alone again.

But it’s a good alone. Just me and the countryside. I pass more houses. Front yard set up in permanent yard sales. A sign for a farmer’s market. Tractors. A truck rumbles past.

Finally, I see a bridge. I know this bridge. I saw this bridge three days ago. I’m close.

I cross the bridge and the river below. I’m close.

A few hundred more feet, and I’m at an intersection. Of a highway. With gas stations and cars and stuff. More civilization. It’s all surreal.

I cross the highway and follow the flags onto a smaller backroad than curves to parallel the highway.

This is it. The home stretch. All alone, I think back over the last few days. How many has it been? What is today? I think back over everything that’s transpired. The moments of despair. The moments of elation. My crew. The mountains. The out-there-ness. The volcano. The forests. The hypothermia. The doubt. The quesadillas. (Oh, the quesadillas.) The shoes. The changes within myself. The miles. How many has it been?

I savor every step now. I will not be back here again soon.

There’s a gentle curve in the road, and the high school comes into view. A minute later, I find myself passing through its fence, into the parking lot. I see cars and trucks and piles of gear scattered everywhere and being sorted. It hit me how much goes into this. Not just my journey but everyone’s.

I follow a small sidewalk, through a short chain-link fence, and suddenly I’m on the track. It’s soft underfoot. Almost disarmingly so. It’s black. It has long white lines that I follow. I hear people cheer from the shanty town of awnings across the field, at the finish line. The finish line.

I take in everything. The pine trees. The brown, parched grass on the infield. The sky. The electrical wires. A pair of crows perched above. My mind floats inside my skull.

Smelling the bar, hard. (Scott Rokis)

Moments away. (Marc Laveson)

I turn the final corner and look down the barrel of the finish, now populated with the screaming skeleton crew of a crowd.

There’s nothing left inside me except joy. Pure, vibrating joy. I’m swimming through it. My face already hurts from grinning.

And then, I’m done. I cross the finish line. It’s been 69 hours, 29 minutes, and 5 seconds. 206.5 miles—call it 208 with the sabotage. I’m done. It’s done.

Done. (Scott Rokis)

Like, really done. (Scott Rokis)

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What running 208 miles feels like looks like. (Scott Rokis)

After The Party, It’s The After-Party

I lean over my poles as people swoop in to congratulate me. Candice is there. We exchange a few blurry impressions of the course. I tell her it’s the most beautiful course I’ve ever been on. Someone else asks if I want to eat anything. I never want to eat anything right after a race. I decline. “Maybe a grilled cheese?” she offers. “That sounds suspiciously like a quesadilla,” I shoot back. Everyone laughs. I laugh because I’ll never eat another quesadilla again in my entire life.

They sit me down in a camping chair and cover me with a blanket. I suddenly become acutely aware of how badly I stink.

What the feeling of three days of running looks like.

Fat feet. (Toenails previously removed.)

Our listing, confused road friend appears a short time later. After lingering at the finish line the requisite amount, I’m ready to get into a hotel room and shower. We pile into the massive Suburban. With the enclosed space, I once again become acutely aware of how badly I smell. I apologize to my crew. I’ve put them through enough already.

The sun is fully up now. It’s warm and aggressive. I’m standing in the parking lot of a hotel I booked months ago. I get in the room throw my bags down and slump into the shower. After 20 minutes(?)—time is meaningless—I get out, throw on clothes, and check my phone. There’s a message from Ethan Newberry on it. “Dude, congrats on the finish!!! Do you want to be on Ginger Runner Live tonight?” Sure, that sounds like an intense way to end this whole thing.

I exit my room out into the harshness of the late morning sun. I need food now. In cut-off shorts and flip-flops, I stagger down to the highway and follow it for a half mile until I come to Packwood, Washington’s finest—and also only—grocery store. Inside I proceed to buy the most insane things I can find. A platter of bright red colored Chinese pork of some sort. A bag of spicy pickles. Cheese sticks. A bag of cheese-flavored potato chips. A pint of cookie dough ice cream. A six pack of some local IPA. My only solace is that I’m probably not the strangest thing to blow through this roadside grocery store.

This is the kind of quality advertising the have in Packwood. A picture of elk fighting with a Mountain Dew logo over it and a picture of another elk with a Pepsi logo over it with the tagline “Delivering the fun.”

As I get to the register to check out, the cashier asks me how I’m doing. As I go to answer, I simply croak. A “…” Nothing comes out. A weak noise escapes my mouth, like a squeaking, frightened animal. I try again. Again, nothing comes out. I smile. She smiles back at me. It’s awkward.

The cold I’d been experiencing all race has finally fully manifested itself. Somehow between the stress of the miles and the illness, my vocal cords have packed up and gone home. I’m totally incapable of any sort of speech. I simply croak a “thanks” and retreat back to the hotel, where I proceed to feast and take a second bath again because, hey, I earned it.

The hotel after every 100-miler or more is always a blur. This is no exception. I knock back a beer and turn the Discovery Channel on. At some point, the Deadliest Catch lulls me to sleep.

I wake two hours later. The pain in my legs is all-consuming. I test my voice again. Nothing. I have to be on Ginger Runner Live in three hours. I brew some tea in the hotel coffee maker and add some lemon and honey that I’ve procured somewhere.

After two cups of tea, I venture out of my room. I hate sleeping.

It’s mid-afternoon now. I hobble down to the Blue Spruce Saloon. Anything called a saloon automatically has my vote. The enter and find a vast expanse of a place. But everyone is huddled around the curved bar at the front. Who patronizes the Blue Spruce Saloon in Packwood, Washington, at 3:00 in the afternoon on a Monday? Old people. RV types. Locals too. They’re all in there getting hammered off $3 Coors Lights. It’s fascinating.

I try to order a Stardust IPA—the most expensive and obviously douchiest—thing on the menu. The woman working the bar can’t understand a word I say. Mostly because I’m not really saying words. Just sounds. It’s instantly embarrassing again. I feel like the weirdo in a bar of retirees getting schlitzed at 3:00 in the afternoon. To be fair, I guess I am the weirdo who just ran 208 miles.

I enjoy my beer and the general feeling of not-running before hobbling back to the hotel.

At around 6:00 we start Ginger Runner Live. I’ve now slept a collective 3.5 hours in 3.5 days. Groovy.

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I always love talking to Ethan and Kim, and it’s fun to be able to talk about the race with such fresh, raw emotions. At one point, Ethan turning to Kim and says, “I don’t think we’ve ever had someone on the show who just finished a race while the race was still going on.” It’s true. People are still out there running. God bless them. I’m not.

A few times, my voice goes out entirely and is replaced by what can only be described as a death rasp. At least it adds to the drama of the whole thing, I think.

But I make it through. After a really fun interview, I sign off. Now there is nothing left to do but let the sounds of the Discovery Channel lull me to sleep once more.

Now, I am finally, officially done.

I ate so many bowls of free Fruit Loops at breakfast the next morning.

And I enjoyed a Bigfoot beer beneath Mt Rainer.

Looking Back

Running 200+ miles is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It broke me down. It made me dig deeper than I’ve ever had to. It asked everything of me.

I got exactly what I wanted out of it. It scared me. Not just “scared” me. It scared me on a deep, animal level.

When I finished I said I would never do that again. In fact, I said no human being should ever do that. It was dreadful.

But it was also unimaginable. Unimaginably beautiful. Unimaginably remote. Unimaginably brutal. Unimaginably whole.

I came closer to understanding own mortality and my own immortality in a single event. I came closer to touching the universe and everything in it.

The more time I have to reflect back on my experience, the more deeply affecting I realize it was.

I believe.

#race #ultrarunning #Bigfoot200 #200miler

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captainsrogers7 · 6 years

Text

Babysitting Part 2

Send Request people!!! I’m dying to write things.

Loki x Reader

Summary You have been assigned to watch over Loki. Over the few weeks you have spent with him you two grow close to each other. When it’s finally time for him to return to Asgard, you enter a stage of misery and depression. That is until Thor surprises you with something.

Word Count: 1,577 ( I know it’s long)

Warnings: fluff

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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You wake up at 5 o’clock, you make your way to the kitchen on the helicarrier and you are greeted by the Avengers.

“Good morning Agent…..?” Captain America asks me.

“Y/L/N, Y/n y/l/n, please.”you answer his question.

He nods and continues with the conversation, “So I hear your babysitting him.” He really emphasized the last word.

“He has a name you know. And to answer your question, yes I have been assigned to watch over Loki.”

Everyone cringed at the mention of his name. Bruce sipped his cup of coffee a little louder as if trying to ease the tension in the room. Scenarios like these made him uncomfortable. All of you clue into this and change the subject, well sort of.

“So what’s he like? Me and Stark have a bet going on” Natasha asked hopefully, “ I say he’s not that bad just bipolar, Stark thinks he’s a raving psychopath. We have $100 on the table.”

Steve laughed but then focused his attention back on me, it seemed he was interested as well.

“Well I only met him yesterday but as of right now it seems like Natasha is winning the bet,” she pumped her fist into the air, “ but it may just be an act. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

You checked the time, 10 minutes until your shift started. Might as well show up early, you took your cup of coffee and began to make your way towards Loki’s quarters.

Upon approaching the door, the air felt oddly cold. Colder than it was yesterday. You opened the door and the grouchy man who was supposed to be watching Loki was out cold in the couch. The room was freezing, you went to the thermostat and adjusted the temperature. As you were making the room warmer you felt your back side grow cold.

“Hello y/n, how are you?” Loki asked with an innocent looking smile on his face, even though he had just scared the daylights out of you.

“You have to stop doing that!” you shouted which woke up the man sleeping on the couch.

He got up and mumbled some rude words under his breath and left the room, giving me and Loki yet another strange glance.You laughed once he left the room.

“Why on earth is the room so cold?”

“He fell asleep within 10 minutes of you leaving so I decided to inspect my surroundings, that thing being one of them.”

He reached past your face to press the buttons again, this time causing the room to grow extremely hot. You smacked his hand away and readjusted the temperature. You turned around and scowled at him.

“What? I like to know what things do. Especially if I’m going to have to live around them for who knows how long.”

You didn’t know how to react so you decided to try and change the subject, “ So, do you still want to learn how to play those games?”

“ Actually I figured them out yesterday, you didn’t inform me that there was instructions. Now we can play as equals and you don’t have to explain things to me every 2 minutes.” He laughed at his own joke.

“I guess that makes things easier for me, so which do you want to start with?”

“How about Jenga?” He raised his eyebrows as if asking if he was correct. I nodded.

“Sounds good, let’s get started.”

You had been playing Jenga for at least 45 minutes before a stupid move on your half finally made the tower topple over. He laughed at this mistake and said that there were a dozen other you could have done.

You had a meeting with Director Fury so you left for that. it was about another mission in 5 months. You accepted it.You got back to the room confused. ‘Why is the door open’ you thought. You ran to the end of the hallway to see Loki rooting through the refrigerator. He turned around upon your arrival.

“ I thought I’d leave the door open, it was getting quite hot after I fiddled with the wall buttons,” he meant thermostat, “ What do you do with this?”

He was holding up a bottle of ketchup. You walked over and glanced into the fridge. You saw that there was very little, but there was hotdogs. You pulled them out and showed them to him. He seemed confused.

“I put this on that?” his remark made him sound disgusted but his eyes showed curiosity.

“Yup, you just have to heat these up,” you gestures to the hotdogs.

You placed two hotdogs in the microwave and waited. There seemed to be an awkward silence between the two of you. As if you both wanted to say something but didn’t know how to bring it up. As you were about to say something the microwave beeped signaling that the hotdogs were finished. The beeping seemed to have annoyed Loki because he rolled his eyes and covered his ears. You walked over to the microwave and took the hotdogs out. You then found some bread to replace the hotdog bun. You put ketchup on and handed one to Loki before taking a bite out of your own.

He looked appalled by the food you were offering,” You expect me to eat that.” he asked, “ you’re mistaken if so.”

He put in in the garbage bin. Then walked into the room where the games were and returned with Jenga. He began setting the game up at the coffee table while I ate my makeshift hotdog.

Once you had eaten the last bite, you made your way to the coffee table where Loki was almost finished assembling the game. You say on the couch beside him and waited patiently. He scooted away from you as though he was uncomfortable being that close to you. You don’t know why but it hurt a little.

“Well, should we start?” He asked turning to you, a large smile on his face.

You nodded. You removed the first piece. Then he took his turn and the game slowly progressed. After at least 15 minutes the tower was full of holes and growing more unsteady by the minute. Loki made the daring move to remove one of the towers main supports, surprisingly it didn’t fall. Then you made your move by removing a brick closer to the top. Once your next move came round you thought that you could take out block by the bottom of the tower. That wasn’t smart, the tower fell to the floor. Loki laughed.

It was half past 6 and you both were beginning to get hungry. You rummaged through the pantry and the refrigerator but came up empty handed. There was nothing that you could use to make an actual meal. You thought and you came to the conclusion that you needed to go get food from the kitchen of the helicarrier. There was always food there.

So you left the room, you were fairly confident that Loki wouldn’t do anything. He was still laughing at the move you made in chess. So you walked to the kitchen. You found macaroni and cheese, you also found some lettuce and dressing. That was good enough. You made your way back to the room. Sure enough when you returned he was laying on the couch still laughing hysterically.

After the two of you ate you turned on the television that was in the living room. You hadn’t seen it yesterday. You turned on the news, you were greeted by the headline, ‘Unknown Man Kills Causes Riot in Germany’. Yikes, you clicked the channel button but not before Loki read it. It seemed to upset him very much.

“Hey don’t worry about it,” you tried to comfort him.

“Why not!” He yelled, “ this planet views me as a monster!”

He was scaring you. All the yelling and flailing of his arms. You had unconsciously moved to the opposite end of the sofa. He noticed this and his expression changed from anger to guilt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to- I just- I didn’t want this to happen. The scepter took control over me and I couldn’t overcome it.” He began to walk away.

You launched up from off the couch and ran to him. He turned around as you reached him. You pulled him into a hug and you stood there for what felt like ages. It was nice, a little cold but it was welcoming and made you feel protected. After a long time, the two of you let go of each other.

“I’m sorry, I don't now what came over me- it’s that- I don’t know- Well I guess-“ you were cut off.

He pulled you back into the hug. You felt tears hit the top of your head.

“Y/n, I’m sorry” he let go, embarrassed, “ I shouldn’t have done that.”

You didn’t like the awkwardness, “ So I saw cards in there, do you want to learn how to play Go Fish?”

“Yes absolutely”

11 o’clock had come around, you had taught Loki all the card games you knew. Once he had learned he beat you at every single one. Then a knock at the door interrupted your game of Crazy Eights.

You laughed, “Alright Loki, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And you walked back to your room excited for the next day with Loki.

______________________________________________________________

Comment if you want to be tagged.

Tags: @bellag8 @5aftermidnight @bethany-zor-el-danvers @kayleedolan101 @marvelouslyme96

#loki #laufeyson #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki fanfic #loki fic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fandom #loki x reader #loki x you #mcu #mcu fanfiction #loki of asgard #loki of jotunheim #loki friggason

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milesgonzalomorales · 6 years

Note

1-50 for studyblr (all or nothing motherfucker ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

I owe you my life anon I wanted to answer these

What year are you?Third-year as of summer 2018

What’s your major/what do you think you want to major in?Double major in Political Science and History

If applicable, what is your thesis about? n/a

Do you think you picked the right major? For sure. At first I was uncertain in my choice bc I switched quite a bit in my first/second year bw English and History, but then I realized that English classes were making me dislike my relationship w/ literature. I love my poli sci and history classes

Ultimate educational goals? Getting my PhD in International Relations but i have no job to pay for it

Career goals? Working with an international organization like the UN or the IMF

Do you think your goals are realistic? Certainly. They may be difficult to reach, but they are within my grasp so long as I keep working towards them.

What classes are you taking right now? Canadian government/politics, introductory political theory and a comparative history class on race relations in the US and SA

Favorite class out of everything you’ve ever taken and why? Introduction to international relations parts 1 and 2, I took them both in my second year back to back (one in the fall, the other in the winter) while I was still in the political science minor. I loved this class for several reasons. First, the content was so interesting that reading the textbook was never a chore and I was always in the first row of the lecture hall ready 15 minutes before classes even started. Another reason I liked this class was bc I had a really good experience with the ta who was my tut. leader in both semesters - there is only one other ta that I’ve had who has been that phenomenal in their teaching. This ta along with another prof have been really influential in my learning and I don’t think thank you will ever be enough for what they both did. It was actually through these classes that I decided to major in poli sci bc I loved it so much.

Least favorite class ever and why? An Ancient Greek history class bc it was at night and the prof had us read exclusively from a sourebook and his slides sucked.

Current favorite class and why? Canadian government, I’m learning a lot of cool stuff about my country that high-school teachers never did justice to. Also the prof is really enthusiastic and it’s contagious.

Current least favorite class and why? Political theory… it’s not that I hate it, but some of the texts are really difficult to read at times. Lectures are fun though, the prof really knows how to keep an audience engaged.

Favorite STEM field? I took an anthropology class in first year and loved it, the tutorials were really interesting bc we actually got to handle bone material!! It was nothing like humanities tutorials where you discuss and debate. A fun experience overall and I loved learning about the science parts too even if it was a little complicated sometimes…

Favorite humanities subject? Political science, hands down.

Class that you’ve always wanted to take but never had the chance? I want to take a class on ethnic conflict and security, but it’s a 4th year class and i don’t have the prereqs (yet!)

Do you use caffeine and if so how much daily? Never, unless Coffee Crisp counts

What’s your preferred method of taking in caffeine? ^ see above answer

Have you ever tried study drugs? Nope, not a huge fan of supplements like that.

Are you a homework-in-the-morning kind of person? Homework whenever I can type of person

Do you listen to music while you study? Used to, but now it distracts more than anything so I’ll put on some ambient noises or just work silently.

Crowded area or quiet place? Quiet place, but one that has people in it so I feel obligated to work

What’s your preferred writing implement? bic gelocity 0.7 black and blue pens. i cannot write w/o them but they run out so fast.

Do you need to work out before you can study well? work out??? haven’t heard that term in years

Describe your perfect study environment. Idk the specifics, but good lighting, nice temperature, a rolling chair and a high desk i guess?

Are you procrastinating right now? Not really, I have time before assignment deadlines roll in.

What was the last thing you procrastinated? Reading Thomas Hobbes Leviathan, the language was too complex and I shied away from it

Are you a perfectionist? Not really, you make a mistake and you move on, I find that studyblr aesthetic notes are counterproductive

Do you like easy classes or do you feel bad if you’re not working hard? I don’t think there is such thing as ‘easy’ classes, it depends on what an individual’s strengths and weaknesses are. That being said, I had a light course load for a first year class where the prof felt bad for assigning us 10 pages of reading a week when another prof was assigning 80-100.

Are you a good test taker? Most of the time, but with essays, I need to write outlines or I lose my train of thought and get frustrated and anxious about the time and my argument.

What are you the proudest of out of all the assignments you’ve ever had? A paper I did for my critical writing for history class 2 semesters ago, I contacted that professor regularly and was in her office all the time working with her to keep making it better and when I saw my final grade of 38/40, I cried with happiness.

Do you talk to your teachers/professors a lot? Oh yeah, I’m that student who stays after class, spends half the time at office hours, asks questions during class, you name it. Professors are people too, just really accomplished people. Also they’re pretty cool and they want to see you succeed.

Describe your favorite teacher/professor and why you like them. Okay again not a prof, but this person is training to become a prof and i truly hope he’s successful for several reasons. He has a lot of cool book recs both academic/non-academic, calls out the bullcrap that is academic writing, genuinely goes above the paygrade to make sure that students succeed and most importantly, is enthusiastic about the content himself. (press f to pay respects)

Describe your least favorite teacher/professor and why you dislike them. Hnghhhh there was these 2 profs who taught intro ir part 1 and one of those guys was an absolute loser, he constantly made holocaust jokes and other tasteless comments and when i went to talk to him about my final paper, he told me that i’d look like someone who might like to write mine about is/s like ://. never told that prof anything about my academic interests so shut your mouth

Have you ever thought about becoming a teacher/professor? A few times, but I don’t think I could do it. I’d be one of those rambling profs who never end up finishing their scheduled content.

Most profound thing ever said to you by a teacher/professor? Not a prof, but a ta once said that my ideas were worthy of respect and that i shouldn’t feel the need to apologize for contributions (ta: you are valid me: holy fuck i’d die for you)

Best feedback you’ve ever gotten on something academic? Best feedback I’ve ever gotten was on a paper I wrote for my ir class in the first semester where i had a lot of pitfalls in my argumentation style so when i wrote one the next semester w/ the same ta marking it, i got a better mark bc i incorporated that feedback.

Worst study habit and how are you working on it? My worst habit is lacking discipline and I’m working on it by trying to stick to schedules so I can fall back into routine and ultimately be on top of things

Are you an in-class fidgeter? moment of silence for all the pens i’ve dropped while twirling them/taking them apart.

How’s your handwriting? pretty neat, not to brag. but apparently my f’s are jumping off the lines practically.

Write “the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog” and post a photo. sorry, too late for that I’m headed to sleep soon.

Neat or messy notes? A weird combo?? Like messy enough that you have arrows sticking out from all corners and sometimes things are disorganized, but the writing itself is usually very neat unless i’m tired.

A lot of notes or the bare minimum? A lot, for me, the slides are the skeleton and the meat comes from the prof’s mouth.

Post a photo/scan of your notes from your favorite class. I think I uploaded them to my side blog?? anyway it’s late now so can’t do that

Are you a doodler? I used to be, but I cut the habit bc sometimes I miss key info if I’m not paying attention.

Post a photo of your doodles if you have any. lol i used to post a lot under the tag naailah draws

Do you have pre-test rituals and what are they? Making sure I have more pens than I’ll ever need and checking the ink refills to ensure there’s enough.

Are you a tangent-question asker? Yup, there’s no such thing as a dumb question. Unless it’s answered on the syllabus. That’s a dumb q.

Do you make jokes in class? Sometimes. I’ve cracked some awful puns in my comparative poli class once and the prof’s mic picked up on it bc i sit at the front so you have a room of 200 or so students hearing me laugh about poverty and i swear it sounds bad but it was not as bad w/ context.

How many hours do you spend on academics per day? A lot… most of my time is spent on studying/procrastinating on it

What’s something more important to you than school? Life after school and making a real impact in the world, whether it’s small-scale or large.

#Anonymous #naailah receives an ask

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peggyfromtheblockk · 6 years

Text

Get to Know the Blogger

Hey! So, I’ve realized aside from a few comments here and there, I haven’t really talked on here at all! This sad thought made me realize it was time to share a lot of unnecessary stuff so maybe you can get a basic--detailed--idea of who I am. So here’s a bunch of word vomit and feel free to come talk to me, I promise I’m a lot nicer than a lot of my answers make me seem lol

Name: You can call me E.

Age: 20

Zodiac sign: Aries

Height: 5’7

Languages spoken: English but I do remember a few random words of Spanish

Nationality & Location: American and Michigan

Work: Currently working in the infant room at a daycare

Favorite fruit: Blueberries

Favorite scent: Lavender, vanilla, or apple

Favorite animal: I really love otters and llamas

Favorite fictional character: Dana Scully of course (though, I do have a soft spot for Stella Gibson)

Favorite candy: KitKat’s but currently I’ll devour almost any chocolate given to me

Favorite holiday: Christmas and Halloween. But probably Halloween more because I love the prep and the actual day, whereas I just really love the prep for Christmas

Favorite season: I really like autumn because my hometown and college towns are so beautiful but I love spring because I love everything coming back to life

Favorite Social Media? Twitter, but like, stan twitter

Favorite thing about where you live? I just love that I have some of my favorite people within literal minutes of me. It’s a really comforting feeling. And we have a fair every year which is gross but entertaining at the same time

Favorite swear word? Probably shit, but fuck and damn do escape quite often

What are you listening to: As of right now When I Kissed The Teacher from MM2

What Books Are You Reading? I have three books I haven’t finished and haven’t touched in like two months. We, Beaches, and Yes Please

What Time Do You Usually Go To Bed? Around 1 in the morning usually

What Makes You Happy? A lot of things, though I don’t always realize that. I’m usually an “It’s the little things” person too. BUT to answer, Gillian and msr never fail to make me happy

What Are You Craving Right Now? I could smash a plate of spaghetti right now

What Is Your Gender? Female (she/her pronouns)

What Is Your Sexuality? Bisexual but I’m definitely like 85% women, 15% men

What’s The Next Movie You Want To See In Theaters? MAMMA MIA 2 IM SO EXCITED

What Eye Colour Do You Find Sexiest? I’m a sucker for blue eyes

What Do You Wear To Bed? A tee and shorts usually but if I’m in The Mood I’ll wear just a tee (Yes, That Mood)

What Sounds Are Your Favourite? I love the sound of a campfire and babies laughing or babbling literally melts my heart

What’s the first thing you notice about people? Usually, their eyes but I’m drawn to those with a bright genuine smile

What’s something that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Being With My People. They never fail to make me feel warm and fuzzy. Also when I get a cute little note from my favorite professor on an assignment because she is like the light of my life

What are your hobbies? When I’m not in school I like to read and I’m able to write some. During school, you can find me watching x files, sleeping, or enjoying movies or music

What’s your favorite book? I love anything by Laurie Halse Anderson and really anything in the YA genre

What inspires you? Gillian is really inspiring to me because of all the work she does to help others. Bette Midler too

What’s your favorite place in the whole world? well, ok. So, I love Mackinac Island because it’s so beautiful and peaceful (even with thousands of tourists covering the tiny location) but I also just love when I’m with my people. When I’m with one of My People wherever we are, that’s my favorite place because I’m really happy. Also, I really love my work because nothing exists outside those four walls except the babies I take care of

What do you typically have for breakfast? A big cup of coffee and the occasional bagel or bowl of cereal

What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? The first semester of my sophomore year I had this 60-70 page case study due for the end of the term for an education class. For at least a week I would stay up until about 5 am working on it, go to sleep, get up at 7:30 am and do it all over again. That’s been my most stressful and sleep deprived time of my life so far and just looking bad makes me shudder. At least I got a 99% on it

What makes you angry? A lot of things. Let’s not get into that.

What makes you nervous? Uh, everything. But thinking about the real part of my future (bills, working, adulting) really gets me going

Do you wear glasses: Yes and these specific frames fucking suck and my eyes keep getting worse (my doctor told me I’d need surgery before I turned 30, wtf thanks dude)

Do You Have Freckles? Yes and it used to bother me how many I have but thanks to fics that mention Scully’s, I’ve become fond of them

Do You Sing In The Shower? When my family or suitemates aren’t home, then yes I usually belt it all out but usually, I stick to humming

Do You Collect Anything? Postcards and shot glasses. And llama things now too apparently

Do You Prefer To Swim In A Pool Or The Ocean? Pool because it’s clean and I can see the bottom

Do You Study Better With Or Without Music? It depends on the subject or the task but I almost always need some type of constant sound

Do You Save Money Or Spend It? Save it usually but I also tend to spend it all on a big impulse purchase

Do You Have Any Obsessions Right Now? That’s why I’m here lmao

Do You Have Strange Dreams? Alright so I just started taking Zoloft and before it, my dreams would be weird but like unrealistic-weird, like having-a-bad-trip-weird. But since starting the med, my dreams have become realistically-weird, like sometimes I wake up and question if that all really happened

Do You Make Your Bed In The Morning? When I’m at school, yes, but when I’m home I usually just say fuck it because I’ll be back in it at least 8 more times

Do You Like To Read / Write? I love to read (fics, duh) but I do try my hand at writing but I struggle to finish anything and I’m terrified to post any of my work on here

Do You Have Any Homework Right Now? If So, What Is It About? YES and it’s just barely halfway into summer break and I’ve got a huge assignment due the first day back

Do You Get Homesick? Sometimes but I really do love my college life and wouldn’t change it

Do You Wear Jeans Or Sweats More? A mix but because of work, jeans most days

Do you use sarcasm a lot? Sarcasm is my middle name

Do you believe in miracles? Yeah I think so

Do you have any special talents? I don’t think so but I’m good at taking care of kids. Sometimes my supervisor calls me the baby whisperer lol

Do you have any pets? Three cats and a dog and some succulents

Do you have any siblings? A little (half) brother and then technically I have four other half-siblings but they don’t know I exist

Do you believe in the paranormal? Absolutely. A big secret of mine….I actually could, and sometimes still can interact with spirits...Just call me Mrs. Spooky

Do you play any instruments? Nope but somehow I have managed to have a guitar and a keyboard in my possession. I do sing though and was in choir for 7 years

Do you have any crushes? Do celebrities or fictional characters count? If no, then no

Do you have any bad and/or anxious habits? I just have panic attacks a lot lmao and I tend to get really bitchy and mean when I’m anxious which I feel bad about but I can’t stop it

Do you believe in anything enough to fight for it? My right to marry whoever I want and have kids with whoever I want and be in control of my body. There’s probably more but those have been on my mind today

Do you keep a journal? Yeah a few actually but I lose motivation after a little bit and it takes so much to start it over

Do you like your age? Yes and no. I’m an adult which is cool and all but like….most of my friends are old enough to drink and it really pisses me off that I’m 9 months short of legally doing that. I’m super responsible and mature for my age like what will 9 months do to change that? It’s just stupid that I can join the military and go thousands of dollars into debt but I can’t have a glass of wine with my mom at a block party. UGH. American laws S U C K

Do you like your own name? Yes, I love my name. When I was a kid I hated it, I didn’t get the sentiment of being named after someone. I finally got the sentiment around the time my grandma started getting sick. Now that she’s gone, I know just how blessed I am to carry on the legacy of my full name and try to make her proud.

Do you have any scars? Oh plenty, I’m really clumsy. My most notable is the one on my thumb from a freak childhood accident that nearly cut my entire thumb pad off. What a wild time

Do you have a strong accent? I’m from Michigan so apparently, I have a strong Midwestern accent but I don’t hear it. But anytime I’m on the phone/skyping with my friend from Missouri, she always points it out and laughs

Do you talk to yourself? Probably too much but also not in the way that I think is expected. I’m just constantly talking in my head like a constant tv interview about whatever the fuck I’m thinking about which 99% of the time is msr lol

Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate: All of the above

Beer or wine or neither: W I N E

When was your blog created: I knew this was the place to find the best gifs and fics and I wanted to be in the fandom more since I’m so new. Also, I wanted to try my hand at fic writing but I continue to lose the motivation or the courage to write/post

Last movie you’ve seen: Hotel Transylvania is pretty much on repeat in my house thanks to my little brother, so most likely it’s that

First job: My first job was customer service/field hand on a blueberry patch but my first legit legal job is/was at a daycare

Pet peeve: The first I can think of is slow walkers because I walk so fast because my legs are like a mile long

The color of your eyes: Green but they used to be giant sky-blue saucers

Night owl/day person: I don’t like getting up before 9 but past midnight I’m a grouch

Tattoos: None yet, but I have two planned, it’s just a matter of money and timing

Like to cook: Not really but I can cook enough to survive which is typical for college

Grab The Book Nearest To You, Turn To Page 20 Give the last two lines: “Action: Today I will be kind to myself. Affirmation: This is who I am, and I feel glad to be me” - We

Last Person You Cried In Front Of? I cried while holding a baby at work because my shift is changing so things will be different and also my hormones are really out of whack right now

If You Were A Crayon What Colour Would You Be? Any shade of purple

Name One Movie That Made You Cry: Beaches is my go-to crying movie, same goes for Steel Magnolias (what a typical answer, I know)

If I Handed You A Concert Ticket Right Now, Who Would You Want The Performer To Be? Cher, Reba, DD, Bette Midler or Straight No Chaser. Reba especially though because she’s going to be near me soon but it's a 21+ event and I’m nine months short of that so I’m really pissed I can’t go

Would You Rather Carve Pumpkins Or Wrap Presents? Carve pumpkins but I do a damn good job wrapping too

Did You Like Swinging As A Child? Do You Still Get Excited When You See A Swing Set? I loved it even though it made me sick. There’s a park down the street from my campus so if I’m really upset, I’ll go down there and blast my headphones and swing until I forget what’s happening. It’s really therapeutic

Name Something That Relaxes You: I have some relaxing instrumental playlists and I’ll put one of them on, turn on my lavender oil diffuser, and hop in a nice hot shower (and the hot water at college doesn’t run out so I can pretty much be in there for like ever really) or I’ll watch a fav movie that tends to soothe me

Scary movie or happy endings? Happy endings give me life. The fluffier the better

When was the last time you cried? I’m sure I’ve cried today and just don’t remember. There’s literally not a day that goes by that I don’t shed tears but I literally cry so easy (This video or this video will make me cry almost instantly)

Where would you like to visit? I’ve wanted to visit Barcelona and California since I was a kid but in the past 4 years I’ve really wanted to visit New York and Greece

Describe your favorite people in the whole world? I’ll just sum all five of them up with they literally make me feel so warm, happy, and validated. I love them so much I could cry just thinking about them. And don’t get me started with Gillian because I do often cry when I think about her I just really love her a lot ok

Who would be your ideal partner? Gillian Anderson, Dana Scully, or Fox Mulder of course. No, but I want someone who’s like me morals/humor wise

Most used phrase? Right now I’m really into saying “Yikes” but “god fucking dammit” leaves my mouth A LOT

Most used word? Probably “like” as much as I hate to admit it

Extrovert or Introvert? Introvert 100% except when I’m with My People of course because I feel comfortable with them

Who was your first real crush? I had plenty of crushes during early school years but I think my first real one was on a school employee. Wowza I was head over heels for her and the very obvious knew-it-was-coming heartbreak hurt a lot

How many piercings do you have? Just my first holes in my ears but I’ve been thinking about getting my Helix pierced (upper portion of the ear)

How do you deal with stress? Uhhhh I panic first lol. I tend to listen to music—very specific songs that I know will drown out the anxiety/stress, or sometimes I’ll write what I’m feeling, go for a walk, read an absolute favorite fic in my list, watch x files, or I’ll just scroll through my thousands of pictures of GA lol

How many pillows do you sleep with? Three, sometimes four and then I have four accent pillows when I make my bed. Too many, as I’ve been told by everyone

Have you ever been to the hospital? Been to? Yes, plenty of times. Been in/admitted? No, thankfully

Have you ever met any celebrities? In 2016 I went to a rally for Hillary that Cher was speaking at so like…I was in the same room as her. AND THEN my friend shoved me up to her path as she was leaving and she touched my hand and I literally nearly passed out

Have you ever been in a position of authority? I am always deemed the mom friend so I’ll let you figure out that answer...

Have you ever drank underage? Yeah but nothing crazy. I just really like my wine. The craziest I’ve ever gotten was after I turned in that case study, I chugged half a bottle of wine (on an empty stomach), got bad heartburn, and then went to bed for like 14 hours

Are You Easily Influenced By Other People? Depends on the person, but I’d have to say no unless it’s Gillian/Scully/Stella

Are You A Picky Eater? I say yes, but compared to my brother and my uncle, no

Are You A Heavy Sleeper? Usually yes

Are Both Of Your Blood Parents Still In Your Life? Just my momma, but I do see my *gag* father around my hometown every now and again

Are you religious? Not really. I used to go to church a few years back, and then went to another church which ruined a lot of stuff for me and then I went through some tough stuff that made me question, idk

Are you a good liar? I like to think so (I say that as if lying is something I should be proud of), at least to everyone but my mom because I swear I can pull off the best lie ever and she always sees right through me

Are you a clean or messy person? My home life is messy. My room is trashed but the things that are put away are organized. But life at college is completely opposite, my dorm is very clean and organized and I clean it top to bottom every weekend

If you made it this far, thank you for putting up with my crazy long first post, and I’m sorry that I practically vomited my thoughts into a jumbled mess but I wanted to share myself with you!

#Get to know the blogger #personal #first post #entirely too detailed but oh well #come talk to me #get to know me #msr #GA

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iamanoneyemouse · 4 years

Text

Marlon

I’m a little late to the party on posting this, but I wanted to write my experience before it totally fades away now that I’m over what I believe was mild shock and trauma!

On Friday February 19th 2021 our son came into the world (specifically the sofa bed) after a 20 hour labour that my wife made look almost enjoyable. I am blown away by the beauty of nature, the strength of the female body, and the unbelievable combined power of body and mind demonstrated so brilliantly by my wife.

Our son was due February 16th 2021. When that day came and went we joked that he was going to make us wait until the end of the following week. On Wednesday 17th my wife showed me what I can only describe as a “bit of jelly” so I decided that I needed to start getting earlier nights to be well rested for whenever he decided to arrive (I’d been staying up late recently after getting back into Minecraft with one of my friends), so that night I stayed true to my word and went to sleep early. The morning of Thursday 18th February I woke up naturally, wondering if I’d once again failed to set an alarm. I checked my phone to see what the time was and was immediately alarmed at the notification I saw from my wife via WhatsApp “I don’t think you’re going to be working for the next few weeks now“. Oh shite.

I immediately felt like I was sweating as I rushed downstairs to find my wife in the kitchen, leaning over the kitchen island in the midst of a surge (contraction if you’re not a hypnobirthing nob like us). I asked her when they began and she showed me when she started tracking them “4.57am! Why didn’t you wake me?” I exclaimed. One thing was clear at that moment; she was in control and relaxed and I had been caught off guard. I was so confident in how late he was going to be that I’d left a couple of finishing touches at work until that morning. Suddenly I felt life flashing before my eyes, sadly for all the mundane shit I’d been putting off that under the surface I was in a real panic. However, my wife was in such control, and the surges were around 5-7 minutes apart, that we knew we had plenty of time. We’d also been practicing different massage techniques for in preparation for labour, so one of the first jobs was to apply pressure and play around with which techniques worked best. I quickly set about notifying work colleagues what was going on whilst finishing off the handover document I’d pulled together and kept live each day. I did this in between stopping to support my wife during each surge; it turns out that in spite of the the 3 or 4 techniques we’d practiced, the key one was simply applying pressure to her lower back, or occasionally holding the bump at the front to release the weight. Once I’d shut down from work the surges were still every 5-7 minutes, so we decided to carry on with our day by enjoying some lunch, watching Friends and getting my wife a couple of naps in. We also used the opportunity to try out the TENS device, which involves sticking 4 pads (2 to the upper back, 2 to the lower back) and pulsing electricity that can be intensified during surges to alleviate pain by applying counter pressure to that area (it seems like it was pain distraction). This seemed to work alright, but as the surges progressed I was also holding her stomach at points to alleviate the weight from her front. As the day progressed, the surges were still inconsistent (it’d go from 5 minutes to 9 minutes to 4 minutes to 8 minutes etc.) so we planned an early night so my wife could rest, assuming that this would continue well into Friday afternoon/evening. At around 9.15pm my wife went to the bathroom to brush her teeth etc. and then shouted out that her waters had released. With the waters broken, perhaps it wouldn’t be an early night after all.

After resisting the phone number all day quite calmly, we made the call to the Midwife, who wanted to know how consistent the surges were. At this point they were still not consistent, or happening 3 times within 10 minutes, so they asked us to call back in an hour. There was a little bit of blood in my wife’s maternity pad, but nothing concerning to the Midwife, so we carried on monitoring surges. I asked my wife if we should begin filling up the birth pool, to which she paused to think, before replying “no, not yet”.

From this point onward the surges became more consistent at around 6 minutes continuously for the next hour. Then they gradually started to average toward 5 minutes, with some more frequently at 3 or even 2 minute intervals, but it still wasn’t consistent. We rang back at 10.30pm and told the Midwife team they were averaging around 5 minutes, but with some at shorter intervals. It wasn’t consistent enough but they offered to get someone out if we wanted. We didn’t want to waste anyone’s time so we declined and carried on monitoring.

The inconsistency in surges continued until 11.15pm, which is when everything really kicked up a gear; we decided it might be a good idea to start filling the birthing pool, and we also placed the TENS device back on my wife, which we had taken off during the evening because the mixture of my wife’s breathing and me applying pressure to her lower back appeared to be working quite nicely. Looking back at the monitoring, we actually registered 5 surges within 10 minutes, which In hindsight was a fairly clear sign, but my wife’s superbly controlled handling of the surges, and the inconsistency of time in between, gave us a false sense of what was going on. Between 11.30pm and midnight my wife was having surges in waves of 2 surges every 2 minutes, with a third every 5 minutes (2, 2, 5, 2, 2, 5). It was at midnight that she went to the toilet and then called me in to show her underwear pad to me. I was horrified to see a lot of blood, but I didn’t want to show her how much this had panicked me. In an effort to remain calm I suggested we call the midwife, so at midnight the call was made and they said someone would contact us very shortly to arrange a visit. My wife and I were in the bathroom as she was wiping more and more blood out from herself, as we were clearly both locked in internal battles to keep calm “maybe the placenta has come away” my wife stated, steadily, trying to make sense of the alarming amount of blood we were staring at. A sinking feeling entered my stomach... what if our little boy was in trouble? What had been a relaxed and controlled journey upto this point suddenly felt very lonely, and we were unequipped to deal with what was round the corner if our little boy needed emergency help. In spite of this inner battle I tried not to let my wife see I was struggling, so we bagged up the pad ready to show the midwife and continued monitoring and helping to deal with the surges as they came. The atmosphere had changed though, and it felt like the control was slipping through our fingers, whilst now also waiting on an imminent call back from a Midwife who would be assigned to help us.

Almost ten minutes had passed without a call; earlier in the evening they’d asked what the best contact number was, so I had given them my number in case my wife was otherwise engaged (and she has a tendency to leave her phone somewhere for long periods of time - in today’s society of being glued to phones that’s not necessarily a bad thing). Nothing was on my phone and the surges were becoming more intense and frequent. I suggested checking my wife’s phone, which she told me was on charge in the bedroom. As I walked in it was ringing, so I answered quickly and a lady called Alexia introduced herself. I was panicked, it had been 10 minutes and it felt like we were getting to more established labour. She was extremely calm and assured me she only lived down the road in the next village, so would be with us in around 15 minutes. I tried to explain to her that there was quite a lot of blood in my wife’s last pad, but she was more interested in getting directions (again, seems sensible in hindsight rather than ignoring my panicked statements of what we’d seen in the pad). After trying to frantically explain which takeaway restaurants we were in between, and which side of the road we lived on, she calmly said she’d see us soon, and we were on our own again.

By 12.15am the time in between surges was getting down as low as 1 minute, followed by a 4 or 5 minute gap. The inconsistency was confusing, but my wife was finding them more intense. The wait for the Midwife was agonising as we both tried to remain calm and positive, but I could still feel that bubble we’d held together all day beginning to bulge ready for bursting. I then spotted headlights pulling onto our driveway, the Midwife was here, which filled me with both hope and relief. As I walked to the door my wife mentioned that she could feel pressure in her bum; not thinking too much of it and being fixated on getting the midwife in and showing her the bloodied pads we’d bagged up, I went to the door to let in the Midwife. She was collecting her belongings and bringing them to the door in a very relaxed manner. i stood with the door open trying to look inviting whilst hiding my impatience and worry. That’s when I heard an almighty scream and alarm ripped through me.

I’ve never heard my wife make a noise quite like it, it was filled with horror and pain. Alexia, the Midwife, was asking me questions as we both hurried into the room where my wife was. I was trying to calmly get across my concern about the blood in the pad “it sounds like the baby is coming” she remarked, as she calmly went about putting her gloves on and light heartedly remarking that she usually would like a bit more time to get equipment. Her calm presence was as frustrating as it was oddly relaxing. Another almighty scream from my wife had us both reaching to comfort her as she was clearly distressed and exclaiming that she wanted to get in the birth pool “it’s half full” I said to the Midwife as I hurriedly removed the TENS device and pads that my wife was trying to rip off herself. Suddenly everything felt frantic and out of control; my wife was acting on instinct and it was clear that the baby was now coming.

My wife was trying to talk but not making much sense; she was panicked in her tone and mentioned about pressure in her bum again. She wanted to get in the pool and was clearly distressed, so I yanked down her underwear and leggings and she put one of her legs up as if she was kneeling on one knee leant over the sofa bed. As I did this I looked up and to my horror and amazement, facing me was our son’s head, his eyes completely closed and looking peaceful. He looked purple and lifeless; it was joyous to see him, and heartbreaking in the moment because I thought he was stillborn (looking back with a clear mind it makes sense that he was purple because he doesn’t receive as much oxygen through the umbilical chord as he would through his own lungs). So there was our son, with goodness knows what other fluid gushing out from around him, almost in slow motion. My eyes welled up; I didn’t know what to feel, but instinctually I continued trying to remove the leggings from her ankle “no, no, leave that, this is a really good position” remarked Alexia calmly “OK, one more push and he’ll be here, ready? Big push” and with an almighty scream from my wife, our son was released into the world, along with fuck knows what else with him, directly onto the towels we’d put around the sofa bed. Alexia then picked him up and began to blow on him, gently rocking him “come on now little boy” she said as he rocked there in between her hands, still lifeless. After a few seconds he then took a big gasp and began to cry - he was here, he was alive and he was perfect.

It was an incredible moment - with three pushes my wife had brought our little boy into the world without us even having filled the birth pool (just about half full at this point). The midwife placed down some pads for my wife to sit on, and I was prompted by her to collect some cushions so my wife could sit up to enjoy immediate skin to skin, whilst we waited for the placenta-releasing injection to kick in and the umbilical cord finished pulsing. After a few minutes the placenta was pulled out by the umbilical cord, and like a grand opening of a supermarket, I cut the cord to signal our son’s start as an independently functioning human being. The midwife had a lot of paperwork to do, which gave us time to focus on our little boy and start to process what had taken place “do you have a name?” Alexia asked. We both looked at each other; we hadn’t agreed a name as we were waiting to see what our son looked like. We were also potentially in different places with which name we should give him “errm... not yet” remarked my wife, so for now he assumed her surname whilst we decided.

He was fascinating to look at - a piece of sperm and egg had forged to make this little chap, and he was more beautiful to me than I was ready for. I’d secretly believed that my wife would have an easy labour because of how focused and disciplined she’d been in her preparation, I just never voiced it too much so I didn’t put any pressure on her. She absolutely exceeded any expectation of what I thought the birth would be like, to the point she made it look (dare I say) quite relaxing and an enjoyable experience. After a few minutes of holding our creation, my wife looked at me and said “I think he looks like a Marlon”, which was one of the names we had shortlisted. I smiled as the moment seemed absolutely perfect. We then agreed on his full name, and that was it, he was a fully registered boy and newest member of our family.

Our midwife, Alexia, stayed with us for a few hours and was extremely helpful, even changing his first nappy full of meconium and weighing the boy in at 5 pounds 10 ounces. My wife sat upright with him for quite some time, even getting Marlon his first breastfeed as I paced around, possibly still traumatised from what I’d witnessed come out of my wife. We had some photos, Alexia cleaned up and then left us to it, noting that someone would be round the next day to check in. That night felt euphoric; my wife and I stayed up watching our son, listening to his noises and discussing our experiences of the event. I was blown away by how well my wife had coped and taken it all in her stride, but as I mentioned earlier, deep down I knew she would be this way because of the way she fully applies herself to everything she does, and does it brilliantly. What a birth day it was for us, and what an easy birth it was for our son.

The next day we received a call. The midwife had checked his weight against the threshold requiring follow up checks by the paediatrician, and Marlon fell within that threshold. We were asked to bring him in that afternoon as a precaution, so without any more than 30 minutes of sleep, we hurriedly packed some bits together, including the pram, and went to the hospital. It turned out that my wife and son would have to be monitored for 24 hours, so what we thought would be an afternoon trip ended up becoming an overnight event. Unfortunately due to COVID I was not allowed in the ward, so I could not visit, which was difficult for my wife and I, so I did the best I could by dropping off some favourite takeaway food and snacks that I knew she would love. Soon enough, our son had completed all his tests and the results were fine, so at around 11pm on 20th February we all arrived back home as a new family. My wife hadn’t slept for over 33 hours by this point, so I stayed up with our son for about 3 hours whilst she napped to recoup some energy. He must have been tired because he has not slept that long since, but I wanted to do whatever I could to ensure she had enough energy to carry on a little longer.

We’re now entering our fourth day of Marlon’s life, and I can’t be any prouder as a parent or husband. My son and I are lucky to have such a powerful woman in our life, and I want to remind her of that as often as I can. There are so many hopes I have for my son, but one of the most important ones I want to continually remind myself of is the hope that he grows up with an open, free mind. This will allow him to remain genuinely content, empathetic and curious of the truth (whilst being flexible with having his mind changed by truth), which will most likely lead a very fulfilling life. I aim to leave the world a little better than I found it, whilst helping others on the way, I hope I can inspire Marlon to do the same, but I think because of who he has as a mother, and I a wife, he will exceed that.

Marlon, I can’t wait to help you take in the world, make sense of it, reason with it and grow within it. I look forward to the conversations, the laughs, the cries, the lessons and the connections. You have made my life complete; the rest of time with you is now a bonus.

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abuziewicz · 4 years

Text

my media use

At noon on Thursday, October 29th, I woke up. I had about two hours until I had to pick my sister up from school. I took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs. By this point, it was around 12:30pm. I ate a bowl of cereal, picked up my phone, and laid down on the couch. When I get on my phone for the first time in a day, I check my emails and text messages first. I have emails from Venmo, Word of the Day, Postmates, and Holt International. Venmo let me know I had signed in to the app. Word of the Day gave me a fun new term: “subitaneous,” which can mean “suddenly.” I occasionally deliver food with Postmates, so they let me know what benefits they offer, such as store or entertainment discounts. Holt International is a Christian company that finds kids who are missing parents or struggling financially, and connects them with volunteers who sponsor them by sending a monthly fee over, to help them cover expenses. My parents have sponsored kids for years, and when I got my own source of income, they chose a girl in India for me to sponsor as well. Holt International sends me various promotional emails. I check my email to see if there are any coupons, or information that I need, such as paychecks. Mostly my email revolves around money, when I think about it. Sometimes I feel stressed out when I check my email, because my bank will tell me how much money I have, or I will read a subject line wrong and think I’m in trouble with a company. Usually, I just feel a sense of necessity, to see what I’m being emailed about, and to delete the emails I do not need.

After I check my emails, I check my text messages. Most mornings this sequence is flipped, as messages are much more important in my world than emails are. However, this morning, the only text in my phone is a confirmation request for my wisdom teeth removal appointment in a week. I respond “Y” to confirm. I am a little nervous about the appointment, but I am glad it will happen so soon.

It is now 1pm. On Monday, I had taken my one-year-old 16GB LG smartphone and factory reset it in the hopes of getting more storage and faster processing time. Unfortunately, this did not work out as well as I had hoped. While I did have more space, the “system” (undeletable, inaccessible parts of the phone) took up 9GB of my available 16, and would only increase, even after a full wipe. I click on Snapchat, take a quick close-up picture of my face, and begin to type. Any story posted to Snapchat will only last 24 hours before disappearing. There is an option for the poster to have story posts saved into their Memories, a camera roll just for Snapchat. I have a private Snapchat story, in which I control the amount of people who see what I specifically post in that area. In this story, I have about 30-33 viewers. I ask such viewers, over top of the close-up selfie, “Anyone with Apple iPhones: what is your storage like? I am thinking of converting.” After it successfully adds to my story, I am on the Snapchat “Chat” screen. I have “streaks” (numbers that indicate the number of days two people have sent each other Snaps back and forth for) with eleven people. I send, one by one, a different picture to each of the eleven people. When I first downloaded Snapchat, I had over two dozen, maybe even three dozen streaks. Some people have hundreds. Often, people take one single picture, indicate in some way that the image is being sent to maintain the Streak number, and send it to everyone they keep a streak with. I have eleven people I send streaks to. It is no great hassle for me to send a different picture to each person. In fact, I prefer it, as it takes up more time. Most people take a little while to respond anyways. I dislike when people respond to my Snapchats within seconds, it is stressful to me! “Don’t you have anything else going on?” I wonder. “I understand that it’s a pandemic, but do some homework or something. I only snapped you twenty seconds ago.” Once I have sent all of my streaks for the day, I scroll over to see what other people have put on their stories. I usually only have around 50 stories to go through each day. I pay a little more attention to some, a little less attention to others. It is pretty easy to skip quickly from one story to the next if I want, but it’s only 1:20, so I have time to look at each one. There are Friday fundraisers, one of my sister’s friends had an emergency appendectomy (thankfully she was fine, and excited to watch Impractical Jokers in the hospital), some people had work pictures or puppies in beds. Most of the stories make me smile, a few don’t elicit much of a response or thought besides “oh, that’s nice.” Usually Snapchat does not bring me negativity that I am aware of. Sometimes I worry for people, in the event of, oh, a hypothetical emergency appendectomy, or when someone is sad or worried. One person makes me frustrated sometimes, as they routinely ask people for money for rent and food, then use that money to get tattoos. They tell people they used their money to get a tattoo, not food or rent. Lately they have not posted any requests, but the next time they do, I will most likely block them. Mostly, I am happy to use Snapchat to see what my friends are up to, even if I can’t see them very often.

After scrolling through Snapchat, it’s around 1:40. I open the Instagram app. I talk to a few friends through Instagram direct messaging. I am actually not sure why that is our main form of communication, but I do not mind it. My friend Russell has answered my Snapchat story through Instagram. He has an older iPhone, but as long as he doesn’t update it, it doesn’t get any slower. We discuss other aspects of the iPhone. I am thoughtful about it. Another friend and I get into a small argument- we have both been busy, and were worried that we were growing apart. I am slightly annoyed, then understanding and calm. A group chat I am in, called The Rats, is sending pictures of baby opossums. They are adorable and their mouths open at a full 45-degree angle. The possums make me smile. Returning to the Instagram home page, I can see posts made by people I follow. I like nearly every post I see as I scroll down. Mostly I follow people I know, and a few brands. It takes only a minute or two to like everything and return to the top of the page. Similar to Snapchat, I take care of business, then move on to stories. I pay very little attention to Instagram stories. Even though I don’t follow a lot of brands, some of the people I follow post dozens of stories in a row. I have to click through them rapidly. Sometimes it makes me feel anxious to move so quickly. Usually, if someone repeatedly posts too much, I “mute” them, which means I do not have to see their story anymore unless I actively choose to. Sometimes, I forget, and am left tapping tensely through the tags. As I finish going through stories, my mom walks in the door. It’s 1:50pm.

My sister goes to a technical school 15 minutes away. She has to be picked up around 2:15pm. My mom puts down some bags from errands she’s run, grabs some water, and asks if my brother and I want to join her to pick up my sister. My brother is in the middle of an XBox match, but the dog and I love car rides, and joyfully accompany her. She asks me to turn on my Halloween playlist as we drive. Around 1:55pm, I connect to the car’s aux cord, and pull up Spotify. As we drive, I fiddle with the Spotify songs- even though I made the playlist, there are some songs I prefer to hear over others. I also occasionally respond to messages about iPhone storage. Each one convinces me a little more, bit by bit. I am on my phone for about seven of the fifteen minutes that we drive to the school. As we wait in the parking lot, I text a little more. We were in the parking lot for about fifteen minutes- my sister forgot her iPad in her classroom and had to go back for it. I am on my phone for about nine of those fifteen minutes. When my sister gets back again, we head towards home. Beggar’s Night is going on at 6pm. It is around 2:30pm. My sister and I are going to dress up as Dipper and Mabel from Gravity Falls for when we ladle out candy. My sister and the dog are dropped off at home so that she can finish her costume and he can run around the backyard. My mom and I go to Walmart to pick up candy. We do not usually allow ourselves to pick up candy until very shortly before Beggar’s Night, as we will eat it. Even less than four hours was not enough time to exercise self-control, as each member of the family stole a few pieces. I am not on my phone for most of the Walmart trip. We are only there for around twenty minutes, weighing the prices and candy amounts of each package. After paying and driving home, we get in the door around 3pm.

I get on my laptop to check my CState email and Blackboard. I have no due assignments for the night, but I check to make sure I haven’t forgotten something. This takes around five minutes. I begin to finish my Dipper costume (painting a white ball cap partially blue), periodically answering more iPhone suggestions, and responding to regular messages. The hours of 3pm, 4pm, and 5pm consist of texting, painting, and briefly eating. I spend about one & a half of the three hours texting. I can’t easily text while I paint, but I perform both tasks alternatively while I wait for the paint to dry or people to respond. When it hits 6pm, we are ready for Beggar’s Night. We have masks on, a long ladle to scoop candy into bags, and cover from the garage to protect us from rain. Over the course of the two hours, we only get about a dozen kids, maybe fifteen at the most. My mom scoops generously, since she knows anything left over won’t last until 9pm under our roof. People are grateful and talkative. I am on my phone only once during Trick or Treat, and only for five minutes, to upload a Snaochat story of my sister and I as Dipper and Mabel, and of course, send a couple of texts. After Trick or Treat is finished, we are all cold, and left with about 10 of the 255 candy pieces. We settle down in front of the TV.

It is now around 8pm. We watch TV together nearly every night as a family, usually for at least an hour. In celebration of October and Halloween, we have started to rewatch Stranger Things. Other shows we may watch include New Girl, My Name is Earl, Bob’s Burgers, The Good Place, and The Legend of Korra. Sometimes we’ll throw in a movie if we have enough time. Usually we watch three or four episodes per night- one episode from one show, then moving on to one episode of a different show. I love all of these shows fairly equally, though I can confidently say The Legend of Korra is my least favorite. I still enjoy it! In comparison, though, I enjoy it less than the others. We watch shows that usually include comedy, to end our days with a collective laugh. Tonight, we watch New Girl, then Stranger Things, followed by My Name is Earl and tying up the night with Bob’s Burgers. We only have two episodes left of The Good Place, so we have been putting off watching it. I am mostly finished texting for the day. Before 10pm, I send goodnight messages and plug my phone in to charge. The end credits of Bob’s Burgers mark the end of my day.

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oddree13 · 7 years

Text

Dec. 9 - Winter Kegster Truth or Dare - @omgcpwinterextravaganza (Read on AO3)

Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25

Truth or dare?

Why was such a simple sentence loaded with such potential?

On the one hand, choosing either option could be harmless and fun. But on the other, it could cause humiliation, mental anguish, or exposure.

But maybe Dex was just building it up too much.

It was a late night at the Haus, as the team finished their gift exchange and had moved onto the drinking and revelry portion of the night.

Sitting around the living room, Lardo had been the one who suggested truth or dare, and Dex felt as if it was a way for their team manager to get more information and blackmail on her underlings.

The night was going fine until Nursey was given the choice. Truth or dare?

Unsurprisingly he picked dare, which delighted Ransom to no end.

“Alright Nurse, I want to you open your messages app and pull up the texts from the last person you messaged,” Ransom began, Nursey tipsily following the instructions. “Now, I want you to message them something lewd but truthful. The only reason you can back out of it is if it’s family or a teacher. Anyone else you need to send a message a NSFW message.”

Saluting his older defenseman, Nursey opened up his phone and balked a bit at the person who was first. Hiding his phone so no one could catch a glimpse, he took a bit to compose something and then hit send.

Within seconds Dex felt the phone in his pocket vibrate and was beyond thankful that he’d turned the ringer off. Surely Nursey hadn’t text him right?

Waiting a few minutes until the team was distracted with the truth Nursey had asked Whiskey, Dex slipped the phone out of his pocket and looked at the notification

***(1) New Message - Hello Nurse***

Trying his best not to blush, Dex opened the message and couldn’t believe what he read.

I want to map every one of your freckles with my tongue. DN

His efforts not to blush had been futile.

Red from a mixture of embarrassment, anger, and a little bit of lust, Dex excused himself to the bathroom, and ran upstairs, locking the door behind him.

Calm down. That’s what he needed to do. If he acted calm then no one would know he got the text and Nursey wouldn’t know that the text got to him.

But it did get to him.

It made him think about the kegster a few weeks ago when Dex had let himself let loose and had ended the night by pressing Derek Nurse against the wall, kissing him hard, and teasing the other defenseman with the heel of his hand until he’d come in his pants. As soon as Derek made to return the favor, however, Dex had come too and pulled off, making a hasty excuse and leaving the party.

Since then things had been a bit tense between them, but Nursey was anything if not resilient and good at seeming chill, and hadn’t brought it up beyond approach Dex at team breakfast to ask if he wanted to talk. When Dex said no, Nursey left it alone.

But now Dex was sitting in the upstairs bathroom of the Haus, doing his best not to hyperventilate over a text from Nursey clearly stating his interest.

Maybe it had been for the wrong person, Dex initially thought but then remembered the word freckles. It didn’t help but reread the message conjured some rather vivid images.

Taking in another deep breath Dex thought about responding. Or maybe just going down and leaving.

Before he could decide though, his phone vibrated again with another text from Nursey.

That was too much wasn’t it? DN I’m sorry. I’m tipsy, and well you didn’t want to talk about the kegster. DN I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m here if you need to talk. DN No ulterior motive. I may like you but if you’re not into me or guys, and that party was a one off, I’ll get that. DN

Rereading the last sentence over and over again, Dex couldn’t process what Nursey was saying. He liked Dex? He probably just meant it as a friend, and nothing more. But then why would he have added the part about guys or the party, his brain supplied, and Dex didn’t know whether to smile or scream.

No. He couldn’t deal with this now. The holidays were around the corner and he had to make sure nothing slipped out during Poindexter Christmas dinner.

Taking a deep breath, Dex got up and walked out the door, ready to make his goodbyes.

“Hey everyone, I forgot didn’t submit an assignment so I’ve got to run back to my dorm. Thanks for a great night,” he forcefully grinned, and ignored the pleading look Nursey was giving him in the corner of the room.

Heading to the door to get his coat, he heard some murmurs in the living room, but ignored them. Well tried to that is, until Nursey came up behind him.

“I said I had to bounce to. Can I walk back with you?” he asked, sounding too pathetic for Dex to say no to him.

“Fine,” he muttered and headed out the door once Nursey was bundled.

They were half way back to the dorms when Nursey started. “I should have just lied and sent it to the second person in my phone. I know I was wrong, but it was there, and you didn’t want to talk, and I figured if I did say something you just wouldn’t want to talk more, and that wasn’t any different, but if you either got mad or really any other emotion and wanted to talk, then it was worth it.”

“So you wrote that to get a rise out of me?” Dex asked, half screaming.

“No, I wrote it because it was true. I mean the last thing I remember before ruining my boxers that night was running my tongue up your neck!” he shouted back.

Stunned Dex couldn’t think of anything to say before Derek continued.

“I just want to understand why you danced with me then dragged me to another room to make out, but then ran off. It’s chill if it’s because you thought you might be into dudes then realized you weren’t or maybe it’s because it’s me...I’m not going to lie, it’ll be shitty, but I’ll deal. I just want to talk Dex,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s none of those reasons,” Dex confessed as he stopped walking. He wanted to keep it all inside and he wanted to lie to Nursey, but looking at his best friend so vulnerable, he couldn’t.

“I like you. I like guys. Just guys, not girls. And I wish I didn’t,” he swallowed, his throat clenching as he held back tears. “I just can’t.”

Without stopping to think, Nursey wrapped Dex up in his arms and held his friend close. “Oh Will, you can’t hide who you are. I’m sorry if my text made this all come up, but you can’t keep this bottled up.”

“Yes I can,” Will huffed, leaning into the hug anyway.

“I know you want to but you can’t. How about this, let go back to your room and either talk about it or just be. I don’t like the idea of you stewing all night especially when I’m the one who brought it up.”

“No you didn’t I did by getting you off at the party, which I’m sorry fo-”

“Stop Will. If I wasn’t into it I would have made that clear. Let’s just go back to the dorm and wind down. I’ll even make that tea you like.

***

Several hours later in the early hours of the morning, Dex laid curled up in Nursey’s arms, thinking that he would certainly let Nursey lick all of his freckles. Eventually.

#nurseydex #william poindexter #derek nurse #truth or dare #omgcp fic #omgcp #omgcpwinterextravaganza #omgcp advent calendar 2017 #myfics

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amrmies78 · 4 years

Text

Never in my Wildest Dreams

Pairing: Taehyung x female reader

Genre: he’s famous, you’re a regular girl, chance meeting, cute interest, right place right time, surprise, tour, road crew, unexpected love, backstage, job loss, new opportunities

Warnings: Not much to warn against! Possibly a kissing scene, but haven’t written it in yet

Parts so far: 3

Synopsis: Life has dragged along until this moment. You finally have your dream job working backstage for a big time stadium! The day has finally come to begin your dream career and you’re over the moon. But. What happens when you loose your cool on the first day of work when you find out your favorite K-Pop band is performing? Sadly, not all dreams last. But remember, when one door closes another opens. And it may bring love along with it.

**While I’ve read fanfic before, this is my first time writing one myself! This idea has been playing around in my head for a while and I finally sat down to put it together. Hope it’s enjoyable 😊

Never in my Wildest Dreams Part 1:

**tick..tock..tick..took..tick..tock**

You glance at the clock for the millionth time only to realize that a meager minute has passed by. It’s been a slow day, as most are, in Martin & Martini- the small and rustic coffee shop along Mainstreet that employs you. While your coworkers are kind and the pay is steady, it’s not what wakes you up in the morning excited for a new day. But it does pay the bills and keep you off the street, so it’s serving it’s purpose for the time being.

Today is the first day of a new job. After years of volunteering backstage for non profit theaters and struggling to make ends meet, you’ve finally found a spot as a stagehand at a major stadium in downtown Dallas. The past few weeks have only made you more excited as you completed basic lighting, rigging, and stage setup training. Now you’re on the schedule as a regular employee and even get to help with pre-show checks!

The excitement is palpable to your roomate Jaclyn as you rush into your two bedroom apartment to get ready for your shift.

“Hey y/n! How’s it goi-“

“Hey Jaclyn!! Sorry, in a rush! It’s my first day at the stadium and I want to be extra early!”

“Awh, you’re going to love it so much and do so well.” She encourages as she follows you to your bedroom.

“I hope so J! I’m nervous but so excited! This is all I could have imagined.” You respond to her. The weight of your words make you stop for a second and think. This is truly all you’ve ever wanted. You can’t believe you finally made it.

“So whose performing tonight, anyway?” J says, bringing you back to the present moment.

“Oh, I haven’t even looked! It must be a major concert since most of the staff is scheduled. Probably a rock concert, I’ve heard those are really common at the stadium.”

You reflect for a split second on not knowing who is performing. ‘Find out who it is next time y/n. A good employee would know that.’ You whisper in your head, tough on yourself as ever. This isn’t a job that you can let slip through the cracks.

J leaves you with one last congrats and word of encouragement before letting you finish getting ready. You change into the black crew shirt and your favorite skinny jeans. Finishing off the look with converse and some perfume, you head into the kitchen for a quick snack. One glance at the clock says you need to be on the road ASAP if you want to get there early. Opting for a granola bar and a bag of grapes, you yell “bye!” to J before zooming out the door.

The drive to the stadium takes less time than you expected because your foot is slammed on the gas. You head inside early, take a quick stop at the bathroom, and then clock in at 5pm as instructed in orientation. By 5:15 you’ve met with the stage manager and found out your tasks for the night. You’ll be helping with instrument setup and chord rigging for the majority of the evening. Although it’s not the funnest thing to do backstage, it is a great opportunity to learn.

You head up to stage level to get started on your part of stage setup. You find some chords that need to be tapped down and get to work on those, making a mental list of different things to check after finishing with the tapping.

You stick your last piece down to the floor when you hear someone holler “hey, you!” in a slightly Korean accent.

“Um, hi?” You reply to the man staring your way. “Can I help you find something?”

“I need some help with the microphones!” He explains while gesturing for you to follow.

“Ahh, okay. I can definitely help with that.” You reply, relieved that you aren’t in trouble. You follow the man deeper into back stage where the band is supposed to be warming up. You’re a little nervous being back here, it feels like this might be a higher ups job. But you push the feeling away and trust your skills with mic setup. ‘You know how to do this, it’s fine.’ you repeat in your head, trying to calm yourself.

Too bad that calm is the last thing you feel when you realize the situation you’ve put yourself in.

The man stops you in front of seven very familiar looking boys. They are all turned your way but pay no attention to your arrival. They instead are pulling their earpieces in weird twists trying to position them correctly. You know you need to move forward to help but can’t convince yourself to do so. You know these boys. You’ve listened to their top hit song DNA millions of times. You saw them when the were on Ellen and then with James Gordon in carpool karaoke. You downloaded V-Live for crying out loud just to watch their chats.

This is BTS.

End of Part 1

Part 2:

“Um, hi, are you here to help?” the boy on the right asks you kindly, disrupting your thoughts. ‘That’s RM. Wow, he’s very tall’ you think to yourself.

“Um.... I think so” You reply dazed

One of the boys on the left chuckles and says in his best English “Well, can do me first?” You’re eyes flash to him and see a mess of chord around his neck.

“Yes, yes I can.” You reply, not completely sure if you’re up for the challenge but walking forward anyway. ‘This is V’ you think to yourself. You like V a lot. His fun and sweet personality from videos you’d watched was always attractive to you. He was easily your favorite member. That didn’t make the current situation any easier.

You approached V, keeping your eyes pinned on the mess of chord around his neck. You could do this, just remain calm and stay focused. You weren’t sure how to instruct him considering the language barrier, but luckily, it seemed all the boys had improved on their English speaking and V could generally hold the conversation with you. He explained that the chord was snagged on the back of his shirt and got strained when he tried to take it off. You walked around to his back and untangled the chord from the tag where it was caught. You then walked around and detached the mic from the cable to loosen it easier. He gave you a funny but exasperated face that read ‘was it really that easy!’ And you couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction.

“I’m happy to help, don’t worry” you breathed in the midst of laughter. You lifted your face to his and immediately stopped breathing. He is staring intently into your eyes with the slightest lift of the left corner of his lip upward revealing a shy smile. The moment must have passed within a few seconds but seemed much longer. It was broken with the approach of the youngest member, JK, who also was is desperate need of detangling. You went from him to Jin, then to JM, and finally RM. Suga and J-Hope hadn’t ended up in the same catastrophes as the other members so you passed over them with just a smile. You looked back over everyone once finished to make sure all connections were perfect. Everyone gave you a thumbs up and a quick “thank you” before scurrying off to the stage for sound check. V was the last to leave the room and took a moment to glance back at you with a small smile playing on his face. You smiled back and lifted a hand to wave before he shifted attention back to his work.

As soon as he was out of sight, you took a deep breath and pulled yourself back together. ‘Work y/n, it’s time to work. Process later.’ You said sternly in your head. You had a whole checklist of things to finish before showtime. So you went on to side stage to complete your tasks. The image of V was playing in your mind but you tried your best to push it back so you could stay focused. After checking lighting, making sure sound board connections were secure, and searching all the rooms for the stage managers clipboard, it was time for the show to start. This was the easy part of the night. You were assigned to side stage for technical difficulties and assisting the sound board. You got comfortable in your chair parked next to the sound director and fixed your eyes on the small stage opening in your view. You weren’t in main sound panel located in the crowd, so this view of the show would have to do.

Within 30 minutes the show was on countdown to start. The stage lift finally reached the top and a pop of fireworks announced the opening song. You couldn’t place which boy was which from your line of sight, but you were enjoying yourself none the less. The first half of the show passed quickly and without problems. Other than helping sound with a replacement mic, you were soaking in the greatness of your new job from your chair.

The second half of the show begins and you settle in for another 2 hours of music and fun. You’re just about to ask for a restroom break when you hear screaming abrupt from the crowd. This sound is different from the constant shouts of joy you’ve heard up until this point. You jump out of your seat and walk to the stage curtain to get a better view. All you can see is a huddle formed in center stage consisting of BTS members and stage crew. The crew members are struggling with something in the center of the circle, but it’s out of your line of vision.

A few moments pass when the crew finally has a strong grip on the item in the center. Finally You get a clear image on what the staff is carrying. It’s not an item, but one of the boys. The others rush off stage with him and you catch the reflection of V’s hat in the group. You breath a sigh of relief you didn’t realize was building, but still feel worry for the member who was carried off. The show is put on hold and tour called back to your seat at the sound board so you’re not in the way. 20 minutes of worrying and stress pass when finally the boys walk back on stage. One boy is missing but you can’t put my finger on who. RM steps up, mic in hand, and takes a deep breath. He then explains says to the crowd

“Thank you for being patient, Army! We love you all and appreciate your patience. Sadly, our sweet Jim had a small accident on stage and it looks like he may have sprained an ankle. He is being checked by doctors now and will hopefully join us back on stage later. We are going to continue the show now and appreciate your understanding.”

He finished off with a heart and kiss to the audience then signals all the other boys to get in formation for the next song. You’re immediately at the soundboard waiting for the next instruction, ready to do your part to help the show continue. The show picks up again and passes very quickly. Jin doesn’t return back to the stage but the boys update the audience that it was a slight sprain and that he would be fine. By the end of the concert you feel more drained than ecstatic, your enthusiasm worn off. You’re stressed for the boys and weary of the stage cleanup to come now that the show is over.

As if on cue, your name is called over the walkie talkies everyone carries. The stage manager has requested you to meet him at left stage, so you head that direction to receive instruction. As soon as you make eye contact, you immediately feel uneasy. His posture, facial expression, and stance all indicate that something is wrong.

“Hi Mr. Montey, what would you like me to do?” You ask quickly.

“Y/n, I have to ask you a question” he states

“Yes sir?”

“Were you in charge of tapping on stage?”

“Um, yes sir.”

He takes a moment to sigh and then continues with “Y/n, the member who was injured today fell because of a loose chord. A chord you were supposed to tape down.”

Your stomach drops and you immediately feel tears well up in your eyes. “Mr. Montey, I’m so sorry.” you reply. “I was asked to help with microphones and didn’t think about it, I...”

He waves his hand up in the air signaling for you to stop speaking. You do and he glances at the ground for a moment. When he makes eye contact with you again he looks defeated. “y/n I’m sorry, but this is unacceptable. This was a major performance for us and you had a simple checklist to complete. Even with the distraction you faced, these things should have been done. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to let you go.”

You felt this coming from the moment you locked eyes with Mr. Montey. But the sting of his last words in the air burned through you entirely. Your dream had been found and lost in one night over a simple mistake. You needed to cry and you knew it would happen soon. So you offered another meager apology and said you understood his decision.

After that you turned around and sought out the nearest exit. The tears were starting to flow and you had to rush out the side door in order to keep your embarrassment at bay. The second you were outside breathing air, you fell to the ground in sobs. You felt too exposed in open light so you crawled to some shade under an awning by the door. Not a full minute had passed when the door opened again. Of all the people in the world who would have come out of it, of course it would happen to be V.

He had changed from his costume to some shorts and an oversized black t-shirt. He had some water in his hand and seemed to be enjoying the fresh air. You tried to calm your breathing, wanting to go unnoticed, but he quickly spotted you as he checked his surroundings.

“Oh, it’s you” He said in surprise

“Yeah, me.” You responded. You couldn’t hide the disappointment you had for yourself from your voice

“Everything okay?” He responded, realizing that you had tears in your eyes

“I’m good. Sorry to interrupt you, I should go” you say in between wiping your nose with the back of your hand

“You can stay, you should” he offered, coming to sit beside me “I’ll stay too, we will sit”

And so you both did. You cried and he sat peacefully with you for at least 20 minutes. At the end of the 20 minutes, he asked why you were crying. Knowing you wouldn’t see him ever again, you decided to be honest.

“Yeah, I just lost my job. My dream job. I was the reason your member got injured, I didn’t tape the chord down enough. I got sidetracked helping with your mics and didn’t even think about it. I’m so sorry.” You plead, wiping tears from your face.

He takes a minute to process and think through what you said. He then replies “Jimin is okay, you know? It’s not your fault. He walked too far back in the song, that is not because of your tape.”

You appreciate his comfort and allow it to help a little. But it still hurts to be out of your job. You respond “thank you, that’s kind of you to say. I just.. worked so hard for this job and I can’t believe I messed it up. All I’ve ever wanted is to help back stage...” The tears had stopped flowing at this point and were more like droplets. You had begun to bring your hand up to your cheek to wipe one when you suddenly find yourself locking eyes with Tae. He has his right arm extended to your cheek, attempting to wipe the tear himself.

He explains to you “I’m sad to see you cry. Sorry you have to hurt. I wish I could help more.”

In which you slightly smile and respond “sitting with me and helping me breath again was the best thing you could’ve done.”

“The bus will be packing up now, I must go.” He says sadly

“Of course” you respond standing up with him. “Your show was wonderful and thank you again for being here with me” you say as a farewell.

He nods, and with a small smile on his lips, says “yeah, maybe I’ll have the opportunity to sit with you again sometime soon.”

He heads through the door with one last wave goodbye in your direction. You wave back and then head in the opposite direction toward the front of the stadium. His last words left you confused but you’re too drained to think about them. All you want is your bed and a new day.

After collecting your personal items from the front desk, you leave the stadium for the first and last time. ‘Such a shame.’ You repeat to yourself over and over. You feel defeated and completely distraught.

“Maybe it’s time to give up my stage crew dreams” you whisper to yourself as you shuffle to the car.

And maybe with another few weeks or months you would have. But that wasn’t your story.

End of Part 2

Part 3

A slight knock on your bedroom door draws you back to reality. You glance at the small alarm clock on your wooden bedside table which reads 6:00 PM. You’ve spent the entire day laying in bed after calling the coffee shop this morning and saying you wouldn’t make it to work today. The hollow feeling in your chest was just too strong for you carry out into the world.

Jaclyn peaks her head in the door without receiving a response from you. You had mentioned losing the job last night when you passed her in the kitchen after coming home. A kind “I’m here when you need me..” was all you heard before closing the door to your room and lying down completely dressed to sleep.

She pushes her way through the door after seeing that you’re awake. She’s carrying a dinner tray which holds a white bowl and a glass of water. She walks to the bed and sits beside you, setting the tray on the floor.

“Y/n... I brought you some soup okay? It’s your favorite, from the bakery on Hopkins Street..”

You nod as an acknowledgement to her words, but make no attempt to reach for it.

“I know you’re hurting, I’m so sorry.” she explains, simultaneously rubbing your leg in a comforting manner. “But let me tell you something. It will be okay. You will be okay. Maybe not right now, but more opportunity is out there.” She says sternly.

Jaclyn had always encouraged your dreams and stood by you as you struggled to make it. She knew your journey more than anyone. Hearing her encouragement didn’t take the pain away, but it did help you understand. You may have given up on your dream, but you couldn’t let this be your life. Sulking would get you nowhere.

Struggling to release your feet from the blanket, you finally get into a sitting position against the headboard of your bed.

“I guess I’ll have some soup” you mumble to your roomate.

She smiles sweetly at you and reaches for the tray to lay in your lap. Although you aren’t hungry at all, you take a few bites and finish with a few gulps of water. Jaclyn takes the tray from you as soon as you push it away.

“I can watch a movie with you if you want? Maybe something scary??” she enthusiastically asks.

“Thanks J, but I want to get some more sleep.”

“Are you sure?” She comments. Concern clearly marking her voice.

“It’s okay, really. I’m gonna go in for my shift at the coffee shop tomorrow, don’t worry.”

You’re interest in work seems to put her at ease, if only a little bit. She nods her head and whispers a quick “I’m right outside” before leaving your bedroom with the tray in her hands.

You decide it’s time to get out of bed and head for the bathroom to wash up. An hour later you’ve taken your bath, put on fresh pajamas, and pulled out your clothes for work. You grab some water from the kitchen, passing a smiling Jaclyn on your way back to your room. You lay back down and surprisingly fall into a deep sleep very quickly.

The coffee shop is busy when you arrive in the morning at 7 AM. You quickly tie your apron and jump into the chaos. Before you realize it’s already 12:00 in the afternoon and time for your break. You put your apron on the hook and grab your bag, headed for the sandwich shop down the street. After placing your order and finding a seat you reach for you phone only to realize you have two missed calls from an unknown number. ‘Hmm, that’s odd’ you think you yourself. Since they called twice, you decide to try calling back, hoping it’s not a telemarketer. Someone picks up on the third ring.

“Hello” they say blandly

“Um, hi. I received a call from this number” you say timidly

“Is this y/n?” they respond

“Yes it is, may I ask who this is?” You say in confusion

“Oh, yes. We’ve been waiting for you to call back. My name is Chung-Ho, I am one of the stage managers for the BTS world tour. We recently had a position open up in our stage crew and you were recommended for the job.”

“Wait, what.” Is all you think to say after he finishes. “What are you talking about?” You ask.

“BTS’ world tour..” he explains. “We’d like to offer you a stagehand position with us for the next few months.”

Your phone slips out of your hand as you contemplate what you just heard. ‘That can’t be right y/n. You must be dreaming, no way. Get it together.’ you think to yourself. The familiar sound of your ringtone surprises you and you quickly reach for the phone off the floor.

“Hello?” you ask heavily

“Um y/n? I believe we were disconnected, this is Chung-Ho again about the stage crew position.”

“...I’m sorry Mr. Chung-Ho” you say “but I don’t understand. I didn’t ever apply for this position, I think there is a mix up.”

“No, you didn’t apply, but you came highly recommended by someone on the team. He had said that you were recently looking for work and would be a great candidate for this position. So here I am reaching out.”

Mr. Chung-Ho proceeded to explain details about the position. You truly meant to listen, but your mind was filled with Tae’s last words about “sitting with you again.” ‘He couldn’t have done this.. could he? But why? Surely he must have-‘

“So what do you think?” Mr. Chung-Ho asks

“I... I.. I would love this opportunity.” You respond, trying to keep tears from falling down your face.

“Then it’s all settled!” he replies. “You will start with us on Thursday, if that’s fine with you. We will send you an email with tour info and guidelines. More will be explained once you arrive. Reach out to me with any questions.” He states with a quick goodbye and then hangs up the phone.

You sit dazed with the phone still pushed against your ear unable to process your thoughts. Your mind drifts to your first meeting with Tae and his adorable but subtle smile. It can’t be denied at this point..

The sweetest boy with the sweetest smile just gave you your dream back.

End of Part 3

#bts #btsfanfic #btsarmy #btsfanfiction #btsv #btstaehyung #taehyung #bangtan #bangtanboys #btstour

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