All Aboard the Fatty Relief Wagon


I received an email from one of my besties telling me to sign up for a half marathon and run it with her and some of our friends. Initially, I laughed. A lot. But, then I got that itch. That, I haven’t trained in a minute and it feels so good when I do kind of itch. Then I thought about Jill, over at The Year of the Phoenix and how she is training for a half. No lie, Jill is what got me thinking about running a half . I’ve never really thought I could run a half, but Jill’s sort of served as a half marathon inspiration. So, I went on the race site and started reading. Contemplating it. Maybe this is something I could do. And then I stumbled on this:


The Back of the Pack Crew and SAG Wagon will signify the end of the field and the maximum 16-minutes per mile pace. They will not start timing until the last person crosses the start line and will be with you throughout the race. If you cannot keep pace, the Crew will help you as you board the SAG Wagon. If you cannot maintain an 16-minute per mile pace, you will be required to board the support buses.

I can just picture it now. I’m at mile 4, complaining to Alicia and Kevin that I’ve got a cramp in my side. I’m probably dying from a heat stroke. I need a drink. Did anyone arrange for anyone to have a bottle of whiskey ready for me as I cross the finish line? They tell me no and now I’m angry. The porta-potties are in sight at mile 5. Alicia and Kevin make a pit stop. I’ve already peed 18 times before the race and refuse to break the seal now.  I realize that now is my time to run…while my friends are in the bathroom. (I do it every race. Mostly because they are faster runners than I am, as in – they actually run run – I jog swog. I sprint ahead so when they come back from the bathroom they have a chance to show the world their running abilities and I don’t feel like I held them back the whole time.) So, here I am – I’ve run ahead. Ten minutes later they’ve caught up to me and are bitching at me for running ahead. The Fatty Relief Wagon rolls up and says we need to board. I imagine a scene similar to the Titanic:

Me: I love you, guys.

Kevin and Alicia: Don’t you do that, don’t say your good-byes. Not yet, do you understand me?

Me: I’m so hot.

Kevin and Alicia: Listen, Danielle. You’re gonna get out of here, you’re gonna go on and you’re gonna cross the finish line and you’re gonna run more half marathons. You’re gonna die an old… an old lady having run lots of races, not here, not this race. Not like this, do you understand us?

Danielle: I can’t feel my body.

Kevin and Alicia: Registering for this race, Danielle, was the best thing that ever happened to us… it brought us back to running together.  And we’re thankful for that, Danielle. We’re thankful. You must do us this honor. Promise us you’ll survive. That you won’t give up, no matter what happens, no matter how hopeless. Promise us now, Danielle, and never let go of that promise.

Danielle: I promise.

Kevin and Alicia: Never let go.

Danielle: I’ll never let go, guys. I’ll never let go.

And then the support team pushes me into the bus as my people run ahead….




That’s what it would look like. I am not in a place where I could keep a 16 minute mile for all 13.1 miles. Shit, I lose a toenail at 6.2 miles. I would undoubtedly lose my entire foot at 13.1 miles.

BUT – I did sign up for the 5k portion of the Mich Ultra event with the promise that I’ll receive a medal and beer after.

AND – As a cyclist/wanna be runner that hasn’t run in over a year and really wasn’t ever a good runner, I’ve started c25k again. And all I can say is:



LASTLY, I may or may not be searching for races without a time limit…


9 thoughts on “All Aboard the Fatty Relief Wagon

  1. Bahahaha.

    You WILL honor us. And we are getting back together to run again without anyone losing a limb, or perhaps even pride.

  2. Pingback: 13.1 | Damn girl, that's a lot of fattitude

  3. Pingback: Too Damn Big and Too Damn Old | Damn girl, that's a lot of fattitude

  4. Pingback: Control | Damn girl, that's a lot of fattitude

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