6 + 2.5 = 4

Last night I had a dream that I was running a marathon.  On Halloween.  Which seems fitting because on Sunday (Halloween) I will be running a race (a marathon). 

The marathon was set in my home town and much like a previous running race dream, much of the marathon was set inside various buildings around town.  The difference with this dream marathon was that instead of following a group of runners, I was following a map and the map lines were also written on the ground beneath me.  So naturally, I got lost somewhere near the Jr. Swine barn at the Wood County Fairgrounds**.  I kept looking at the map and at the ground but the lines were so tiny that I couldn’t tell which way the arrows were pointing.  People kept running into me left and right. 

**I would post a link here to the Wood County Fairgrounds website but there isn’t one.  Just imagine a large open space with a bunch of cow and sheep barns.

Suddenly, I was in a play.

Just as suddenly, it was two and a half hours later and the play was over and I was back in the race.

Somehow, even though the race was throughout a full city, there was an announcement telling us that the roads would start to reopen to traffic in the next hour and we needed to hurry up.  “Great” I thought “I’m only at mile 12! There’s no way that I can run 14 miles in an hour! How did I mess the timing up on this? I should have been able to run the race and act in the play all within 6 hours! 5 plus 2.5 is totally 4! I should have 2 hours to spare.”

I was so upset that I ran to my parents house (which is actually down the street from the Wood County Fairgrounds and the Jr. Swine Barn) and told them that I would meet them at mile 10 (yes, going backwards here) in 10 minutes.  Mile 10 was in the high school parking lot which can be seen from my parent’s living room window. 

Then I ran to a costume rental store which looked more like this giant thrift store that I went to Maryland one time.  I was frantically searching through the racks marked “sparkly” for the perfect costume (that I can only imagine was a crazy ringmaster with Barnum & Bailey).  I found it in the rack and was soon wearing (with my running shoes, shorts and D-Tag timing chip) a white Oxford shirt with yellow paint streaks, a green sparkly sequined vest and a red sequined dinner jacket.  But the pants!  What could I wear for the pants?? Blue bell bottoms, of course!  I ran over to the rack marked “ugly pants” and flipped through pairs of acid-washed jeans, cropped acid-washed jeans, acid-washed jean shorts, acid-washed harem pants and two pleather shirts – one brown, one green.  These may have been in the wrong section. 

Oh fuck! The race!

I ran out of the store in my sequined outfit (to which I had at some point added a pink tutu) and started to run again.  Somehow, instead of the marathon, I was in the middle of the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure.  Thank god I was wearing a pink tutu!  Again, the announcements started blaring that we only had a few minutes left to complete the race and I realized that I was still over 14 miles away from the finish line.  I dropped to all fours and tried to run but it was basically like I was a dog running on ice.  Nothing I was doing was working.  I couldn’t run at all. It seemed familiar.

Suddenly, I was sitting in my dad’s van with my parents and sister and I was telling them about this dream.

And, of course, like all of my dreams, it ended when a cat jumped on my face.


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