Seems like everyone is interested in something dealing with sports these days, especially now that the year is coming to an end.  New Years Resolutions to be made, gift buying for their special someone and we are no longer in the age where you have to look frumpy while dying for dear life in your favorite fitness endeavor.  

Before getting so heavily engulfed into running, I struggled finding athletic wear that was friendly to my plus size frame.  Either all of the cute stuff was overly priced, pretentious or not in my size.  If it was cheap, then the materials might rip or some of this stuff looked so blah.  

I'll do my best not to exclude smaller framed women from this post but I chose a few fitness wear and accessory questions that I received, along with a few of my favorite picks.

​​It's easy to get caught up on these thoughts of following through with a perfect workout regimen and eating super clean, especially when you have a goal weight in mind.  Realistically, people will try and try again to get these two factors to work in harmony.  In my own fitness journey, it took over 6 attempts to finally get them to work.  I tried Slim Fast, 3 Day Diet, too greedy for Atkins, was and still anti diet pills, was willing to work out for two weeks and then decided against it.  Any diet craze that hit the market, at the very least, I thought about it.  

In May 2013, I decided to give myself a real fighting chance thanks to a wake up call.  My career, livelihood and happiness depended on it.  I created this visual board, placed it in my shared home office space and looked at it daily with my workout regimen.  I opted against starving myself or eating what people would refer to as rabbit food.  Thanks to technology, I allowed Myfitnesspal to do the hard work for me in factoring my caloric intake, fat and all in between.  Within the first month, I dropped over ten pounds.  The regimen was truly working.  

Shortly after, I went to yoga classes 3 times a week and I felt incredible.  Months later, I started running with Black Girls Run.  By March 2014, I was already 60 lbs. down.  Things were progressing beautifully.  My weight loss wasn't as rapidly as it once did and despite my worries about hitting plateaus, I was going great.  By the time I landed a photo shoot with RedBook Magazine in April, I was 85 lbs. down.  Going from 265 lbs. to 180 lbs. in less than one year was nothing short of amazing.  By summer, my weight was at a stand still and while curious about the sudden stop, I thought I physically looked great.  Most of 2014, I couldn't acknowledge that I was no longer a plus size woman.  Sure, I put on a great front for friends and family who weren't around me on a regular basis.  Unfortunately, my family members and best friends heard the personal insults that I gave myself.  

When I spoke to my doctor, he told me in so many words that if I continued on this way of thinking, he wanted me to talk to a therapist about body dysmorphic disorder.  In simple terms, the image that I saw in the mirror wasn't the same as what was really presented.  By November, I was ten pounds from goal weight.  I should be happy, right?  I was miserable.  
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Here I stood at 165 lbs, finally acknowledging that I wasn't a size 18 - 22 anymore, I didn't like my physical reflection.  Sure, I lost a bunch of weight but I wasn't happy. Here's the basic list that I experienced that you may have heard on other blogs or websites:
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• The weight loss journey is "over":  The biggest lie that you could ever tell yourself
• No more celebrating smaller sizes:  No new goal is the equivalent to no weight loss incentive to some people
• No excuse to buy new clothing on the whim
• I have to eat less now:  Broke my fat girl heart.
• My cheer section is gone.  I hit the goal and now nobody gives a shit anymore.
• "You lost too much weight!  Ugh, you looked so much better before."  
• Am I going to be a scale Nazi?
• Why is everyone curious or pissed that I don't have extra skin.
• I can see all of my stretch marks now.
• "So have you heard that Toya smoked loads of crack and dipped into Lake Minnetonka just to get to that size?"
• Let's ask her all of the questions to weight loss everything.  When I couldn't answer them or they heard all of my feedback, "She is a fucking know it all."  Bruh, I just came over for the food, drinks and company.
• Everyone assumes you're a fitness nut who only focuses on weight loss (unless you are that kind of person).

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I rarely hear about the folks go through the mental struggles.  THIS was my case.  I lost most of my weight in the most common and healthiest ways possible.  I worked out several days a week, balanced meats and smaller portions and kept myself in a decent circle.  Nobody warned me about my mental health.  

In my last two months, I was going through a real life shit storm where it seem like everything I touched sounded like a whomp whomp bitch moment.  This notorious rain cloud followed me everywhere and whenever it could, I could see the middle fingers swirling in my face, calling me a loser.  I was used to being an emotional eater but I never knew what it was like to be so depressed that I didn't want to eat at all.  Around this point, I started my epic journey to being a fully functioning alcoholic (Read Here).  My support group was large and small at the same time.  On the outside, I have all of these people cheering me on but because of perception, folks felt like I didn't need much more than that.  Friends thought that I was too busy to contact and thanks to seasonal depression, I was too busy hiding from them like most people dodge Jehovah Witnesses.  I was scared of cursing people out for no reason.  Too scared to fail.  Too scared to be successful of actually completing my goal of losing weight.  Just scared of everything and not given permission to show "weakness."  

Mental health is the reason why so many people pick up gym memberships and leave them on the wayside like a dad who just says fuck it.  It's why most New Years Resolutions don't make it to month two.  Too many of us exercise the body and whip our diets into shape but neglect the mind.  Our mind is an incredibly strong muscle and if not cared for, it can damage EVERYTHING that we worked so hard for. 

I thought some magical number would now mean this magical banner of an achievement unlocked would pop up above my head.  Instead, I stared at the reflection most days asking myself, why did I allow myself to get so skinny.  Like I have stated in countless blogs before this:  I have no problem with people who desire to be smaller.  It's just not MY goal.  I wanted to be healthier.  I achieved this months ago when I didn't think about it.  Physically, I wanted to look stronger.  I neglected this aspect when my depression kicked in.  It didn't help that I wasn't much into strength training.  
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Well, here's some things you can do:

1. Set new short term goals that you desire to attain.
2. If you fail one of your goals, either try it again or revise it.
3. Don't neglect what has been working in a healthy manner.  If you are losing the weight by eating properly, getting adequate rest and training, continue doing what you're doing.
4. If you find yourself in a mental rut, ask yourself what's the bigger problem.  I found that I actually only wanted to be skinnier after a while because I lost sight of my original goals to get healthy, not skinny.
5. FUCK THE NAYSAYERS:  Assholes...everyone has one just like their shitty opinions.  
   
6. Ask yourself what makes YOU happy.  
7. Make your goals, especially weight loss goals, for YOU, not everyone else.  Sometimes, putting people as our motivation can be a setup for failure.  You are applying pressure to yourself to prove a point to them, as well as possibly crucifying that person to the cross when you fall short.  
8. You should be the biggest cheerleader that you know.  When everyone disappears, just keep swimming.  You can never fail you because you are all you have when you're alone.  
9. Buy those clothes and goal focused items.  Take a damn vacation and flaunt that body at any size.  Lost the weight:  Find a new commitment and reward yourself at the finish line.
10. If you happen to have extra skin or stretch marks, kiss those extra curves and love them while they're here.  If you have ways of fixing them in a safe manner, go do it.  If not, thank yourself for kicking ass and taking names on this journey.  You are a goddamn warrior.  Where's your damn cape?
11. LOVE YOURSELF:  Tell yourself that you are worth every moment.  There's nothing wrong with being a little bit selfish, even for five minutes.  If you keep short changing your growth, the weight loss will mean nothing.  Tell yourself that you're beautiful every damn day until you believe it and own it.  Fuck it.  I LOVE YOU _________ because you are worthy of every ounce of breath that you take in.
    

If your mental health is truly in such a negative space, please do not be ashamed to seek outside help.  Know that you are truly not alone and sometimes, this is a life long process.  If you are a person who happened to stumble upon this blog who reached goal weight and not encountering any of these problems, kudos to you as well.  Help empower the next person.  You don't have to work out with someone or buy them fitness clothes.  It can be as simple as telling them that they're special.  Words hold power.

 November 19, 2016



RE:  "My Fat Fucking With Your Emotions"

To Whom It May Concern:

My name is Latoya Shauntay Snell.  I am a mother, a wife, friend to many and at times, a potty mouthed know it all who could give two bits of a damn about your opinion.  Some days, I shed my layers of armor and surrender to questions and comments like yours because I learned how to embrace the notion that I am human.  

For the last three years, folks often question me why do I choose to expose myself to the world in such a way that allows bullets to come in my direction.  I'm very well aware that my armor doesn't protect my heart some days.  When I shower alone, I know that people's opinions can assassinate my thoughts.  Some dreams aren't as vibrant as my personality; it is as dark and tacky as tar.  My dear, this is not a letter seeking your sympathy.  This is merely a statement matching your statement.  While my fat fucks with your emotions, I question why do you care so much.  

I heard the statement, "...hurt people HURT people" so many times, asking for us fat people to turn the other cheek.  Some days are easier than others.  I will never scapegoat my plus size community for the atrocities that they have done in retort.  Shaming a skinny person will not make you better than them.  You are contributing to the atrocities of society.  When there's statements made like "don't trust a skinny cook" or "real women have curves", you are part of the problem.  How can anyone hear anything if we are all just yelling?  

You couldn't have paid me enough years ago to tell me that I would inspire anyone.  My life wasn't designed to move people emotionally, especially not your emotions in particular.  If inspiration comes with the backlash from "normal size folks" who allegedly know how to put down a burger telling me that I am contributing to the downfall of an obesity laced nation, then you surely couldn't have talked me into this rainbow coalition of fitness fuckery.  Unfortunately for you, here I stand.  All 200+ pounds of me, almost 5'4, vertically challenged thanks to genetics, glistening in your disgust and wondering why do you hate me or what I stand for?  Just because I'm a woman who advocates for people to get up off their asses despite the pounds that they tote around on a daily basis?  Would you prefer if I suggest or tell them all to sit down, nuzzle under a Mr. Goodbar and pray the fat away?  

Have you ever considered that it's not everyone's dream to become skinny?  I lost 100 pounds in a year, woke up one morning and couldn't even recognize myself.  Ever had an epiphany that perhaps you was living out someone else's desires?  I learned that harsh lesson once I was 10 pounds from goal weight.  Everything that glitters ain't gold.  

Just for shits and giggles, did you know that not all of us have a screwed up relationship with our dinner?  Have you educated yourself on how metabolism works or auto immune diseases?  How about people who just don't desire to be skinny?  Maybe muscle versus fat?  Or that the BMI scale isn't created equally?  Or wait, maybe we all don't have a goddamn thyroid issue that's preventing us from shedding the pounds?  I bet you didn't even think it was possible that there's some fat people who actually enjoy fitness?  But I understand:  The media has you fucked up, as it has for decades.  First we were told that we should eat fresh fruits and vegetables and then we were told that processed foods was the path an abundant life to exchanging these items for a microwavable dinner to realizing that all of this is just marketing.  

I bet you're awaiting the moment when being fat and fit isn't such a trend anymore.  When the media gets tired of showing my whale ass on your magazine covers, promoting self love and body acceptance.  Are we taking up too much negative space on your Internet browser, baby?  Well, my dear, tough shit.  People have been toting around their beautiful, fat asses for years without seeking your permission.  Before it became the trending topic, people were out there doing something to enrich their lives.  Please don't send your condolences to me that I work out 2 to 3 hours a day, eat semi healthy and managed to be an ultra marathoner yet I'm still fat.  Send your well wishes to the holes that burn in my running leggings from chafing.  These thick thighs murder clothing baby.  If you really care, could you send me a new Fitbit, pay for a few of my races and pick up some ointment because my addiction is costly.  Running is like breathing; my strength training exercise regimen will make your girlfriend blush.  

In short, quit your bitching.  Tighten up your shoe strings.  Make sure you put some ointment in all of the happy places.  Shut the fuck up and take a run with me.  We don't even have to be in the same state, do it at the same time nor same types of places.  Don't like running?  Jump on your bike or sweat it out in a barre class?  Pretend you're the sexiest dancer in your Zumba class.  Murder that punching bag for 30 minutes.  Then go have a glass of wine, kick back your feet after taking a long, hot shower.  Laugh at something funny because sweetheart, I'm not that damn entertaining.  If you're not willing to do that a few times a week, please take your comments, write on a scrap piece of paper, address it to your rectum and shove it.  And if this was already a part of your routine, shame on you for passively discouraging others from getting out there to move.  Regardless of what negative image you try to paint me (or others like me), we are all just trying to shine in our own bright lights.  Stop trying to cut off my electricity.  My bills are paid.  

Love and Light,

Latoya Shauntay
Running Fat Chef

P.S.  I'm petty as hell.  Don't come for me unless I send for you.  To the gentleman who sent me a "love note" last week telling me that I looked like I had a threesome with Aunt Jemima and Betty Crocker:  You are the REAL MVP because I have a fucked up sense of humor.  That shit was actually funnier than the day that your mom decided not to swallow, you insignificant cunt.  Please know that I'm not your everyday role model.  I will curse you the fuck out and give you a curtsy afterwards because I'm such a classy woman.  

I had a Reese's Stick for breakfast on Sunday morning.  I forgot to set my alarm 3 times like I usually do.  At 7AM, I contemplated going to the gym but my mind was still playing BlackJack trying to get my money back from all of those races.  I think the only reason why I got up was because my son kicked me in the face that morning.  His foot is heavy.  He's 9 and sleeps like a bear.  My husband and I auctioned off his bedroom for a few days since my cousin and his wife are in town.  In short, I don't know what the hell to do.

In October, I was overwhelmed with emotions about traveling solo to different states, completing Spartan races and marathons and got homesick.  It's November now.  The NYC Marathon is over and all of these people who wanted to drag me places are nowhere to be found.  I have ice cream that sat in my refrigerator for over a month.  That's unheard of in this household.  

​Guys, if you have a precious little marathoner or obstacle course runner in your lives, give that person a hug.  We are all grieving right now when we ran out of races to run.  I feel like the walls are closing in and the only thing that's willing to save me is my fat ass and my endless stack of dirty workout clothes.  

Every day since the NYC Marathon, I told myself to sit down.  Some days I listened because of the muscle spasms and once because my sciatica wanted to be disrespectful.  Other days, I screamed at the voices in my head and told it that I do what I want.  Realistically, my body needs to repair after two months of being a weekend warrior.  

What have I been doing?  Stretching, light walking for hours to nowhere and at times, not listening and doing light strength training sessions at the gym.  

What should I be doing right now?  Avoiding the mannequin challenge.  Not becoming a couch potato.  Making sure that I don't overdo it with my workouts.  Look for races to kick off my 2017 calendar.  Go on the train to sell candy or use my pole dancing skills to dance and raise funds for all of these events.  I'm shamelessly broke guys.
​

Two marathons, one half marathon, four Spartan races and one pole fitness dancing showcase in two months?  Did I really pull all of this off in eight weeks?  I look at these medals and I can't help but smile but when I reflect on the last year, it has been amazing.

Every year, I revise my bucket list.  2016 is the year that I played truth or dare with it, exceeding my wildest expectations.  If nobody could have told me that I'd be a plus size runner, then there was no living soul who could have made me believe that out of all people, I would participate in a pole dancing showcase ever in life.  Me?  This two left feet, self professed wide squatting girl whose hips need WD-40, can't two step ass was going to go on a pole and dance to a Michael Jackson's Thriller set?  Bitch say what!  But guess what?!  It happened.  I dedicated three months of my life learning it and despite my hair malfunction, I pushed through and made it.  2016 was a year of tears for me as well but it wasn't terrible.  
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In January, I had the opportunity to travel to two states:  Florida and Atlanta.  For a short amount of time, I had the opportunity to see my family members and kick in the Florida sun, basking in sun rays while my counterparts were caught in a snow storm.  I did get cursed out for conveniently leaving on a good week but my trip was planned for a full year.  I traveled from Orlando to Miami and stayed in Little Haiti, in which everyone feared for my life for absolutely nothing.  If I allowed others' fears to take over me, I would have been terrified.  Thankfully, I am not the typical tourist and I played it cool.  Little Haiti was like being in a transitioning millennium Brooklyn.  You can see the old school poverty blending in with gentrification.  Hipsters and old school heads don't scare me.  Can I say that I tasted some of the best dishes of my life while there?  Had some of the strongest coffee that I'll never drink again.  You don't know a strong brew until you go into the heart of Miami.  Between the Colombians and Cubanos, someone had me wired for a half day off of a cup of coffee two days in a row.  

Humbly, I learned the definition to a successful running failure in Miami.  Cheers to the first race that I ever had to learn how to have  chill button.  We're talking about a morning where I had everything perfectly planned, ate nothing different than normal, felt excellent and felt it all go to shit during mile 6.  It was the day that my mind couldn't fight the physical pain.  I never said I was Superwoman nor desired to be.  It started out as a lower back ache and I was mesmerized by the sunrise that I saw back at Mile 3.  I gave it a mental shrug until the dull pain turned into a vicious terrorizing two year old demanding attention.  By mile 9, I was in tears on the course.  Fatigue started to set in.  The crowd participation reminded me of my first marathon in Washington DC for the Rock & Roll Series, which was pretty uneventful at certain moments.  At mile 10, I had a heart to heart with myself and realistically asked myself how much longer could I go.  Realistically, I probably could have chanced it and made it to the end but I am almost certain that directly after getting my medal, I would have been in a hospital.  On the other hand, Miami wasn't my last stop.  

​The next day, I was heading out to Atlanta to meet a woman that I wanted to meet for 11 years, who would eventually be the person that I would break my Spartan Beast virginity in South Carolina.  At that moment, I decided to not be a daredevil and come to some sort of peace of turning my full marathon into a half marathon option.  It was the best decision that I could have made.  Shortly after getting my medal for completing an unscheduled half marathon, I started feeling my muscles twitch uncontrollably.  It took me two hours to move away from the celebratory area, call a Lyft and drive me back to my AirBnB.  My spinal headache was playing auto tunes to my spine and rectum.  With no proper medication, I tried my best to curl into a fetal position awaiting to pass out after taking a very mediocre shower.  Race day evening, I started feel rejuvenated and had one of the best dining experiences in my life. 

Meeting Bracha was absolutely worth dropping from my full marathon slot to half marathon in Miami.  On the course, I told myself that the true race medal would be meeting a woman that I truly admired for over a decade. We spent a few days together in Atlanta and tried to cram in as much things in such a short amount of time.  We thoroughly enjoyed teasing our friends and family members on Facebook about our pseudo lesbian relationship, as many people were genuinely worried about us "catfishing" each other.  If she wasn't who she claimed to be for eleven years, then I'd have to give that woman an Oscar for being an incredible method actor.

This year alone, I participated in at 17 running events and traveled to at least six states.  I feel blessed.  Familiar faces and strangers believed in my success enough to fund me for my marathons and Spartan races, even when there were moments of doubting myself.  At some point, you have to learn how to tell yourself that you're not a complete fuck up.  Guess today is the day.  I'm not half bad after all.  

Next year, I hope that I'm able to give back in some sort of way.  I'm still trying to figure out how I will be able to accomplish this but it would be great to do.  I'm sure if it will be limited to just fitness but hopefully, I'll find a way to tie in mental health.

If there was anything that I took from 2016, it would certainly be in learning how to respect that it's not just a mind over matter issue.  You have to learn how to make them both work in harmony with each other.  Too many of us either think that we are not strong enough mentally or too arrogant to admit that we all have our shortcomings.  Each and every one of us are capable of doing better in something every day of our lives.  Here's a few of my life hacks:
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1. Stop being so damn negative about everything that you know nothing about.  Ignorance is terrible and contagious.  
2. Do not be scared to expand your palate because of stereotypes of who or what other people perceive you to be.
3. Find the success in your failures.  There's always room for a lesson when your plans are not executed the way that you desire.
4. When everyone else in this world turn their backs on an idea or something that you desire to do, you cannot afford to fail you.  If it's logical, well thought out and desired, you will make a way.  It may not work out the first time but reevaluate your thought process and try again.
5. Become your own favorite cheerleader.  Society has become so comfortable shitting on itself that we downplay positive reinforcement to our own mind.  It's not vain to have a bit of confidence.
6. In your success, don't forget to look back  once in a blue to move forward.  
7. Remain humble to something or someone.  
8. We all start from somewhere.  Make your first step.
9. Stop pushing everything off until tomorrow.  Monday is not some dynamic day of the week.  Your Monday is when you stop bullshitting yourself with excuses.
10. Know your body, mind and heart.  Be realistic and honest about it.
11. It doesn't hurt to have a selected few to cheer you on in your journey to improvement.  
12. Surround yourself in the success that you desire.  Might be people, desires or things.  See something enough and you may be brave enough to strive for it.
13. Keep those goddamn haters the hell away from your craft.  If you're petty like me, let them watch from the window but don't showboat.

Aside from the NYRR Ted Corbitt 15K on December 10th, I have no more events planned for the year.  I went back to pole dancing classes at Foxy Fitness and Pole on Thursday and felt like a complete newbie.  For the duration of the year, I plan on maintaining my fitness by jogging around 20 to 25 miles a week, along with my regular strength training.  So far, I haven't wrote my bucket list for 2017 but I hope it will be just as epic as this year's list of events.  I'm considering more trails, Spartan races and entertaining the thought of participating in a Tough Mudder event and the North Face Endurance Challenge, which scares me a bit.  I'll see where my gypsy heart will take me.

That damn alarm went off.  Let's snooze it.  

Second alarm this time.  Fifteen minutes won't hurt.  

Third alarm went off.  It's 4AM.  Perhaps I should take it serious this go round.  It is race day for the NYC Marathon after all.  But fuck, I'm tired.  
I wobbled my 200 pounds to the bathroom, kicking over a few sneakers lined up in my hallway and Cupid shuffled my way to the toilet.  The morning ritual has begun.  Poop?  Check.  Checked my social media account?  Check.  Is my hair done?  Nope.  I touched my head and realized that my hair pins were still in from twisting my dreadlocks the night before.  I had a mishap with my hair dye on Friday night so instead of the originally planned reddish orange center streak, I got honey blonde with mixtures of golden brown on the sides.  Either way, I was starting to dig it.  Even if I didn't, who gives a shit.  Perhaps I should start caring about these things a bit more.  

I took out these hair pins from my toilet bowl one handed, phone in the other scrolling through my feed.  The excitement of the NYC Marathon lit up my phone screen but not on me.  Although this is one of my favorite marathons, I was fucking tired.  If I was lucky, I might have swung in 5 hours of sleep and who knows what the hell I had for dinner.  I traveled to several states for almost two months, being this crazy weekend warrior.   Please don't take my tone as being ungrateful but some days, you're over it.  Doesn't mean I'm not passionate about the sport; it's just 4AM in the fucking morning for Christ sake.  

Hair pins out.  Bladder and booty empty.  Hands washed (because that's important).  I looked like bronze faced death.  I glanced at the shower and decided to start running the water.  If nothing wakes me up, hot water will make my soul catch the Holy Ghost or the Macarena.  I'll settle for either one of them if I could get out of this piss poor zombie state.  I glanced into the right corner and I thought it was a piece of black plastic stuck to my wall.  Turns out it was a moth of all things.  Strangely enough, this happened at every marathon except the Miami Marathon.  I'm not superstitious or religious but it did give me a sense of deja vu.  A part of me lied to myself and said it must be a passed on loved one who was wishing me luck on my special day but the NYC skeptic in me just said "it's just a goddamn moth."

After the shower, I greased up my body, particularly the underarms, boobs and my thighs.  If you are a plus size athlete or chafing prone, you understand the necessity of this ritual.  Once I put on my tutu, I started to feel the Marathon spirit and I no longer felt like the Grinch.  It's the NYC Marathon baby!
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​It's funny.  I am certainly not a newbie to writing long blog posts in the least.  After all, I've been blurbing in diaries for as long as I can remember and on social media since the glorious days of MySpace back in 2003.  Even with the experience of letting my thoughts hit the paper (or computer screen), some things are harder to talk about than others.  This is one of those "journal entries" for me.  Day two taught me a lot about myself once I hit the course.  

Sunday morning was beautiful and warm.  Bracha woke up a little bit before I did.  I decided for once in my life, I would sleep through the alarm despite it being race day.  I was pleasantly surprised that I had very little muscle pain and felt pretty relaxed about the day ahead of us.  We decided early on that we would hit the Waffle House again, use the bathroom for sanity's sake, check out of the hotel and head to the South Carolina race course.  Following the plan, we headed there around 11ish.

Once we reached Carolina Adventure World, we went from being exceptionally grounded and calm to being shaken.  Bracha pulled out our identification and told the desk attendant our names and their faces were puzzled.  Turns out we were about to encounter a problem.  I saw two of the volunteers talking to each other, then moving on to talk to another administrator and only holding onto one bib.  My anxiety started to grow by the minute as I glanced at my FitBit.  The female volunteer that we spoke to held onto one of our bibs, not locating the other and then asked us to wait until the Spartan director comes over to speak to us.  Minutes later, I saw the face of a kind woman who gave us the look that you get before you're terminated from your job of six years and tell the you the positives of having a severance package.  

"I'm sorry but you will not be able to participate in this race today." It was the last thing that I heard her say before my anxiety started to have a civil war in my head.  My thoughts clashed like dangerous waves, hands started sweating and I could feel my mouth moving without real purpose.  Bracha turned to me and the only thing I heard her say was "Let me do all of the talking."  I know she said other words after this but I would be doing all of us an injustice to try to figure out what dialogue that we exchanged.  I heard white noise.  My anxiety was still at a low to moderate level of tolerance as long as I didn't say much.  I didn't even notice that the lady that came over to us left.  Usually I'm filled with quotes or positive, bubbly and insane shit to say to brighten people's spirits at times like these but I had nothing. Another person came over and before I know it, we were allowed on the course but with a stipulation that we would need to move quickly.  We didn't know that Sunday races started earlier than the Saturday events.

There was no infectiously happy pre race video done on day two.  No time to stretch or use the bathroom as I needed to 30 minutes before.  Not even enough time to go over the game plan with Bracha so we can psych each other up for another day on the course.  We just got out there.  No countdown.  No crowd.  No Aroo.  Just move your ass and don't fuck up your golden opportunity.  So, with all of this said, we moved. 

My anxiety meter went from a controllable 3 to 5 trying to move its way up to a 6th grade graduation striving to be the valedictorian of its class.  It is kind of hard to have a nervous breakdown but worse when you know that you're not alone.  Bracha was here with me.  This is not the time to panic and shut down.  In turn, I remained quiet.  In hindsight, I cannot apologize enough to her.  I went from being the Donkey character in Shrek to being this very mundane stranger on the course from NYC.  

Thankfully, Bracha and I talk about EVERYTHING.  She is more than just a long distance friend but almost like one of my living, walking and breathing journals.  We used to talk for hours on end about how our lives was either crashing and burning or doing incredible loops on a rollercoaster ride.  Even with us only meeting each other twice in person, she completely understood that we swapped places.  I felt similar things that she felt on day one on our day two.  

​Well, I was only been packed up for two and a half weeks.  Okay, so I lied.  I have been packed up for almost a month because I'm slightly neurotic, a worry wart and excited to go on this trip.  To be honest, prior to going to South Carolina, this place screamed nothing but nature, boredom and Confederate flags but my long time friend Bracha Williams strongly suggested that I should take a chance and utilize my deferred Spartan race with her in the Carolinas.  

Originally, I was supposed to do the Spartan Beast race in Vernon, NJ.  Might sound familiar since I literally did the Spartan Super Weekend just a week ago at the Mountain Creek Resort and Waterpark.  Last week, I had the pleasure of brushing across moments of wanting to kill my best friend Rayne, on the obstacle race course despite our great ability to push each other mentally and physically (read day two here).  I was nervous about tackling the terrain in Winnsboro, SC since Bracha has a decent amount of experience with obstacle course racing under her belt.  Despite my loads of cross training and running, the Spartan races scare the shit out of me in an exceptional way.  The adrenaline junkie in me made me want to attempt getting a trifecta for this very reason.

Friday morning, I checked my house to make sure that my family would not starve while I was gone.  I threatened them ample times to feed my goldfishes Black Rob, Jr. (Blackie), Goldine and John Wayne III.  NOTE:  These are their real names.  Unfortunately, Biggie, Jr. passed away about two weeks ago and I had to send him down the toilet bowl.  In my mind, I feel like you might be questioning my sanity but meh, your condolences are appreciated.  Nevertheless, I checked over the essentials and took public transportation to the airport.  

My flight was supposed to leave for 10:15AM but thanks to an airplane skidding with Mike Pence in it at LaGuardia airport, my flight was postponed several times.  To make a long story short, I didn't make it to South Carolina until 5:30 that afternoon.  Bracha, my head strong, take no shit friend from the social networking platform MySpace, thought it would be great to pick up my bags and capture me looking stupid, confused and in my best angry New Yorker face.  After we greeted, grabbed some grub and checked in, we pulled out all of our essentials for the first race day.  I made us two deadly 8 oz. Vodka cocktails that tasted like pure hell before going to bed.  This is probably not a good idea for most people to do but you only live once, at least that's what I hear the young people say.
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