“What a weird life I have now.”
That was my first thought after I processed what Sugar Mama had just said. It was about 5:40 a.m. on Saturday. I was still groggy, sleep in my eyes and unable to focus as I rolled over to look at my phone. It had 12 unread texts, which means they came after I went to sleep the night before because I never have unread texts. It’s like unread emails; I can’t stand them. I am pretty close to in-box zero on my personal account AND my junk mail accounts. Hate unread things. Drives me nuts.
I took a second to understand the enormity of her statement, which was connected to the array of texts I had received from around the country while I was in la-la land.
My next thought was, “That’s fucking god-damn incredible. And I missed it.”
Most people reading this little bloggy thing know that I love sports, and that I worked in college sports for a long time. For the longest time, it was the only life I knew. And for a good bit of that stretch, it was the only life I thought I’d ever have. Because it was something I was so accustomed to doing, I took it upon myself to always know the significance of the situation. Historic sports moments, even when the history only mattered to a handful of people, meant the world to me. I loved being a part of history being made.
That’s why I would have loved to have watched UMBC trounce Virginia the night before. Sugar Mama knew that. She knew that situation, a No. 16 seed toppling a No. 1 seed, something that had never happened in men’s Division I basketball before, would have been so huge to me. So many things to appreciate about the way it happened, the moments that half a lifetime from now you can look back on and say, “I remember when . . .”
Unfortunately, I can’t remember this one because I was out cold.
The night before, we both went to bed a bit early. Sugar Mama had made some chicken and pasta, a little homemade carb-loading if you will, and I had a couple beers. My own version of carb-loading. Then off to the wild, weird, explicit land of sleep that is my dreams. No basketball. No “must watch” games. It just didn’t register at all that history could be made.
That’s why my first thought when hearing what we thought was impossible had actually happened was about how weird my life is.
Instead of staying up and watching arguably the greatest upset in high-level men’s college basketball — which in a past year, I would have done every single time — I was more intent on getting ready for Saturday’s activity: purposely running almost 5 miles without anyone actually chasing me.
We were signed up to do the Shamrock 8k on Saturday morning. Running out at the beach is never a bad thing. It was Sugar Mama’s first 8k, and her first race after joining the local running team. Basketball be damned, that wasn’t going to interfere with her goals. And I’m glad that was the case. As much as I love relishing in historic moments, being at the finish line for her was better than any sporting moment I’ve ever witnessed. And that’s a pretty solid list, if I do say so myself. I know how hard she’s worked to get to the point she’s at, and how much she’s changed her life recently. It was amazing to see her progress.
Although, I guess “see” is a relative term.
This is where the story turns into a typical “That’s Trickie” moment. Not on purpose though, I swear.
So, I had finished my run. We knew that I’d finish ahead of her, so that wasn’t an issue. She’s dropped a ton of time since she started, but I’m still a little ways ahead since I’ve been “running” — I’m totally using that term loosely here — for a bit longer. The issue here was on my end and how I handled seeing her finish.
I’m the picture taker of our household. I snap pics of everything, all the time, especially when we’re doing things together. Road trips. Concerts. Ballgames. Nights out with friends or family. I’m always the one taking the pics. It shouldn’t be any different at this big moment when she completes her first big race after getting serious about running. All good.
Well, except one thing: I didn’t get the shot at the end.
I finished my run and got through the chute, picking up my medal, a bottle of water, a banana, and a drink koozie. They gave us a bag too, so I threw all that in there and directly headed to the big-ass tent on the beach. It was the largest “tent” I’ve ever seen and was great to get a break from the wind on a chilly morning for a race that started at 7:45 a.m. when the temperature was 34 degrees.
Inside the tent, I skipped the line for stew, or whatever slop they were giving runners to re-fuel. Screw that. My race bib, which I paid like $60 for to run 4.97 miles of my own volition, had four beer coupons on it. That was my lone goal. I wasn’t about to be cheated.
After hitting the Yuengling beer stand, and walking away double-fisting at 9:12 a.m. with only two coupons remaining, I went outside the tent toward the finish line. My purpose was to be there and cheer on Sugar Mama as she crossed the line. But since I’m the picture-taker of the house, I wanted to capture the moment, too.
Combining beer and picture taking, even at a low level like on a Saturday morning, really isn’t my strong suit. Sugar Mama came trucking over the line, gloriously triumphant. I’ll never forget the look on her face of “Hell ya, I just did that!”. Unfortunately, I won’t have the physical picture to remember it by.
You see, right as she hit the line, I was reaching down to pick up my second beer out of the sand. Previous to that, I had a beer in my left hand and my i-Phone in my right ready to capture the moment. I was kind of glancing up, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone with a green-ish headband, kind of like the one I thought she was wearing when we left the house. Obviously I didn’t look closely at what she was wearing when we left, because, why would I? That’s not what I do. But I thought it may be her, so I tried to hurry up and get a shot for posterity sake.
Yeah, that didn’t work.
As I’m lifting my beer in my left hand and trying to swipe left on my homescreen with my right hand, I snapped a quick pick of the instant she crossed the finish. Too bad the phone wasn’t fully up in the air in my hand, as all I got was a picture of my shadow in the sand holding a beer. And then a series of four quick shots of her winding down her run as she went through the chute to get her medal, banana, chips and water.
Historic? Absolutely. I don’t need a picture to remember how accomplished she looked, and how proud I was, on that day.
Besides, the race photographers probably have a better photo. Unless they’re jagoffs and had a beer in their hand too.
Six-7 Offsuit 