(no subject)
well, the meet in orlando was an adventure, beginning right from the very start, where i nearly got arrested for about the dumbest reason in the history of the world. i rolled into the parking lot where the team was meeting, not really going any faster than i normally do. i was the last person to get there, and there were also some people there who train dogs to rescue people or some shit. and when i get out, there's some woman taking down my license plate number. okay. i'm not really one to care about what other people are doing unless it affects me, and so i ignore her, but then she says, "you know, you've been going too fast through this parking lot for way too long, and i'm gonna call the UWFPD and have them tow your car. hitting a rescue dog is a felony, and blah blah blah..."
i said some choice words at that point, upon which she actually called the police over me going 15 MPH in a parking lot. so they got there, and the little pee wee herman looking police officer informs me that this is the fourth complaint they've had on me. glad somebody told me. i said some more choice words to the police officer, which i admit was probably not smart, and so he told me to stay put while he "conferred with his partner" on "what to do with me", which could include "getting a student referral" (whoopdeshit), or "arresting me". it then turns out that the officer knows the director of the rescue dog people, and upon talking to each other, they came to the conclusion that they would just give me a warning, which the original lady could've done in the first place, and then "let coach deal with me". i'm really not that much of an asshole to speed through a parking lot just to look cool; it's just how i drive. i'm leaving out less relevant parts of this scenario that would make the cops and the rescue people look even dumber, but for the sake of space i'm choosing not to include them. probably the funniest part of the whole thing was coach's reaction:
"red, this isn't the first damn time this has happened, is it??"
"it's the first one i'm aware of."
"did you hit any dogs?"
"no."
"oh good."
*never says another word about it*
i guess coach really not giving a shit about most things helped me out here. ;)
anyway, the meet itself: i was scheduled to run a leg on the 4x8, the 800 leg of the DMR, and a leg on the 4x4. now, the 800 (that's two laps, for you non-track fans) has never been my favorite race, nor will it ever be, because i simply don't have the speed for it (or so i thought), and so you can imagine i was less than pleased to have to race two of them in the same day, followed by a 400, which is even shorter, and which i was bound to get raped at. i haven't actually raced an 800 since high school, where my fastest was 2:04, and i figured that was about dead-ass top speed sprinting, and that i couldn't physically go any faster. well, i was the third leg of the first 4x8, and we had the lead when craig handed me the baton, and my only objective was to keep the lead. i did, and handed off to ramad, and then gates told me i ran 2:00. so i'm like holy crap, i didn't think i could ever possibly go that fast.
we won that race.
then the DMR. once again, for you non-track fans, DMR stands for distance medley relay. one guy runs a 1200 (three laps), the next runs a 400 (one), the next an 800 (two), and the next a 1600 (four laps, or about thirty feet short of a mile). i was thinking there wasn't possibly any way i could go any faster for any reason, no matter what place we were in, since i wasn't fresh and the 800 sucks anyway. well, we were in second place by about twenty meters when wayne handed off to me, and i can honestly say i've never felt better running an 800. maybe it was because i was trying to catch the guy, maybe i just felt good; i'm not sure. i ended up catching him at the line, and then padilla easily destroyed their guy in the mile, so we won that race as well. i stumbled over to the fence, and once again, i was thinking i hadn't gone that fast. then gates told me i ran a 1:59. broke two. never in a billion years would i have thought i could break two in the 800. w00t.
then we got obliterated in the 4x4, because we're distance runners running a sprinters race. we knew it would be funny. and it was.
i got burnt in the shape of a tank top, so now i'm headed out the beach to get burnt properly so i won't look quite so stupid. word. ;)
i said some choice words at that point, upon which she actually called the police over me going 15 MPH in a parking lot. so they got there, and the little pee wee herman looking police officer informs me that this is the fourth complaint they've had on me. glad somebody told me. i said some more choice words to the police officer, which i admit was probably not smart, and so he told me to stay put while he "conferred with his partner" on "what to do with me", which could include "getting a student referral" (whoopdeshit), or "arresting me". it then turns out that the officer knows the director of the rescue dog people, and upon talking to each other, they came to the conclusion that they would just give me a warning, which the original lady could've done in the first place, and then "let coach deal with me". i'm really not that much of an asshole to speed through a parking lot just to look cool; it's just how i drive. i'm leaving out less relevant parts of this scenario that would make the cops and the rescue people look even dumber, but for the sake of space i'm choosing not to include them. probably the funniest part of the whole thing was coach's reaction:
"red, this isn't the first damn time this has happened, is it??"
"it's the first one i'm aware of."
"did you hit any dogs?"
"no."
"oh good."
*never says another word about it*
i guess coach really not giving a shit about most things helped me out here. ;)
anyway, the meet itself: i was scheduled to run a leg on the 4x8, the 800 leg of the DMR, and a leg on the 4x4. now, the 800 (that's two laps, for you non-track fans) has never been my favorite race, nor will it ever be, because i simply don't have the speed for it (or so i thought), and so you can imagine i was less than pleased to have to race two of them in the same day, followed by a 400, which is even shorter, and which i was bound to get raped at. i haven't actually raced an 800 since high school, where my fastest was 2:04, and i figured that was about dead-ass top speed sprinting, and that i couldn't physically go any faster. well, i was the third leg of the first 4x8, and we had the lead when craig handed me the baton, and my only objective was to keep the lead. i did, and handed off to ramad, and then gates told me i ran 2:00. so i'm like holy crap, i didn't think i could ever possibly go that fast.
we won that race.
then the DMR. once again, for you non-track fans, DMR stands for distance medley relay. one guy runs a 1200 (three laps), the next runs a 400 (one), the next an 800 (two), and the next a 1600 (four laps, or about thirty feet short of a mile). i was thinking there wasn't possibly any way i could go any faster for any reason, no matter what place we were in, since i wasn't fresh and the 800 sucks anyway. well, we were in second place by about twenty meters when wayne handed off to me, and i can honestly say i've never felt better running an 800. maybe it was because i was trying to catch the guy, maybe i just felt good; i'm not sure. i ended up catching him at the line, and then padilla easily destroyed their guy in the mile, so we won that race as well. i stumbled over to the fence, and once again, i was thinking i hadn't gone that fast. then gates told me i ran a 1:59. broke two. never in a billion years would i have thought i could break two in the 800. w00t.
then we got obliterated in the 4x4, because we're distance runners running a sprinters race. we knew it would be funny. and it was.
i got burnt in the shape of a tank top, so now i'm headed out the beach to get burnt properly so i won't look quite so stupid. word. ;)