Thursday, February 19, 2015

Rise Above: Moab's Red Hot 33K Race Report

We were sitting on top of a high mesa—near the end of Island in the Sky, Canyonlands National Park— and I wasn't ready to go home yet. 12 months and few days of anticipation had lead me to this point and I was finally... just there. At last, a weight that felt like a stack of bricks on my chest dissipated. A few minutes earlier, Ryan and I, along with our friends, paused mid-hike to sit and listen to the wind blowing through the grass. Afterwards, aside from the sound of my labored breathing, it was mostly quiet as we hiked out of the canyon back to the top. We said our goodbyes, and as Ryan and I began to change into comfy clothes for the long drive back, we located some beers in the back seat and stopped to watch the clouds drift by. "This is it, " I thought "This is what I've been waiting for all weekend. All year. Just this moment." ...

Ryan and I run the Red Hot 55k/33k each year in February. This year's race fell on Valentine's day, which made it extra cute (I guess, if you're into that sorta thing). Ryan's had an injured hip, so he suggested dropping from the 55K to the 33K and running with me.
eeewwwww, gross!

Well, this was an interesting proposition. Normally I am completely against couples running together. I look forward to this race all year—would this sour my experience? Would we fight? Would I hold him back? True, there were a lot of things I was worried about. Then again, Ryan knew I was going for a 4 hour finish. He could probably really push me to a new PR. As long as he was OK with us playing it cool and splitting up if we needed to, then I was in. Besides, the idea of him doing the 55K and getting injured sounded like a bad idea.

We drove down to Moab on Friday and realized it was super hot. The morning of the race, it was already warm. By the time we started running, I  had to take off my long sleeve after 3 whole minutes.

Did I mention how much I love this race? The course is exceptionally beautiful: red rock cliffs, high mesas, dramatic overlooks. It has a ton of uphill and Ryan kept telling me to slow down and hold back. I was breathing really hard and couldn't seem to catch my breath. This never changed and, looking back, I think my asthma must have been looking forward to the race too.

Couples who run
I won't give you a play-by-play, but suffice it to say that I did pretty well—but it was really hard. The last two miles kind of sucked for me, which is sad because last year they were super fast. I had this fantasy running through my head of coming in at 3:50, well below my 4:32 time last year. Alas, it didn't happen. We rolled in at 4:19. Still a PR and I credit my amazing husband for pushing me. At one point, I was really hitting the wall. I was dreaming about one of those one-gallon, milk-jug containers of water:

Oh water, I've taken you for granted my whole life!

At the finish, my chest hurt so bad I was sure I was having a heart attack. I coughed up sand for a few hours as we watched our friends finish strong. On the way back to our hotel, I stopped and got my traditional celebratory donut.

A lot of things go through my head when I'm racing. I think about my friends and family. I time travel. This time last year, I had a long road ahead of me. Looking back over the past 12 months, I'm saddened at how much hate I've carried around in my heart. It's been a strange year. A lot of things have changed. Friends have come and gone, I've switched careers, and people I know have been through a lot. I think I take on a lot of pain and sadness that isn't mine. I have a hard time with change. I'm working on it. I guess I also thought this race was going to ... I don't know, save me?

Like, I'd show up, do really well, and be absolved of all my sins in 2014. After the race, it was pretty clear that wasn't the case. I had overwhelming anxiety and my heart felt like I was falling down an elevator shaft. I put on a brave face and went out with friends. Sunday morning, I thought I had enough energy to go for a 10 mile run in the park. But, when I tried, I couldn't breathe. I had a good enough excuse, sure; I'd pushed really hard the day before and one of my toenails was falling off. But in reality? I was scared.

Jackie in the Alcove 
There was this funny crow flying around the trailhead where we started our run (that turned into a hike). I tried to get closer to it and it kept leading me off the path. I'm sure there's a great metaphor there, but I'll leave it to the English Majors. I'd been telling myself over and over all weekend to "rise above." Basically: stop being so angry. Stop taking things personally. Don't carry all this hate around inside of you. But, it's really hard to let go.

It wasn't until later when we met up with friends and explored a new trail that it happened. Things got quiet and no one had to say anything. It was so nice. Ryan and I sat on a log next to our car and watched the clouds drift by. Those clouds were the most important business of the day.

..."This is it, " I thought "This is what I've been waiting for all weekend. All year. Just this moment." I was suddenly sad that the race was over. I'd been building it up for so long. I was so worried about the whole weekend—the ghosts from last year lingering just outside the lines. And now? Now, it was over.

I panicked for a second and asked Ryan, "How am I going to remember this moment next time I need it??!! I wish I could bottle this!" The sun was extremely warm, the breeze just right. It was quiet. My heart rate slowed down and my chest didn't hurt anymore.

When we started driving back home, I could feel it creeping back in. I'm trying to remember how it felt, sitting on top of that mesa with Ryan. If I close my eyes, I can almost—almost!—remember it.

Thursday, February 12, 2015

We're here to F--- Shit Up

Tomorrow is Friday the 13th and I'm feeling lucky. Moab's Red Hot 33k/55k is on Valentine's Day this year. So, Ryan and I are on our way to run the race and get our fill of the desert.

OK, so maybe we're not going to fuck shit up, but we're still going. It is tradition, after all. Besides, it's my favorite race of the year and I have a plan. Well, "plan" is a strong word. I'm hoping the race goes well. I'll be starting the race around 20 lbs lighter than last year. Will that translate into 20 minutes faster? I have no idea.

Ah, Valentine's Day. Romance, severe pain, love, muscle cramps. I can't wait. I wouldn't have it any other way, either. 

Wednesday, February 4, 2015

The worst thing I've ever done...

This is a story about the worst thing I have ever done in my life.

When I was very young, as in before puberty-young, my parents bought a Guinea Pig. It was my fault. In 3rd grade, my science/algebra teacher had a long-haired guinea pig as a class pet—Clyde. Clyde lived in a tiny glass aquarium; cedar chip base, newspaper lining the bottom. As a student, if you were lucky, you could take Clyde home for the weekend.

Once, I got pretty lucky and got to take him home over a long holiday break. I don't remember which one. His aquarium sat on the floor in our kitchen. At one point, my Calico cat, Cali, climbed into the aquarium with him. No one was hurt.

A few weeks later, at parent-teacher night, my Mom spent extra time talking to my teacher. I don't remember her name. She was pregnant and wore a ton of dark makeup. The next week we took a family trip to the mall - like you did in the late 80's - and I visited my favorite shop: the Pet Store.

You see, in the 80's and 90's, shopping malls always had Pet Stores. As a child, going to the mall was so much fun. I got to visit my favorite stores: the pet store and the candy store. I also got to buy a giant slice of pizza. Now a days, we all know Pet Stores are a terrible idea. Back then, they were amazing for kids. I know, it's sad. All those poor pets...

Anyways, my Mom went in with us and had the store attendant take out a tiny, calico guinea pig from behind a glass cage. She held it in her hand and looked at my dad, "Oh, Jim!". I can still see the look on my dad's face: utter defeat. We did not need a guinea pig.

We got the guinea pig.

We also bought a giant aquarium, a bag of cedar chips, a food bowl with pellets and a hanging water bottle that fit on the edge of the cage.

"Piglet" was introduced to our other family pets by running around the kitchen floor. It was linoleum and we could block off any escape to the other rooms. She left little pellet-poops behind when she ran. You could feed her an entire stick of celery and watch it slowly disappear. She was pretty cute, but we were never really able to bond with her. It seemed that her rodent brain was only capable of tolerating us. She didn't love us the way y cat Cali did; she never ran into my room to see me if I was crying.

Piglet would make little noises when you came home, though, "Weed! Weed! Weed!" It was almost like a whistle. Her nickname became "Weeder."

I don't know how long guinea pigs live, but they live longer than their initial appeal seemed to last in our house. Piglet's cage became a rancid fuming kennel of ammonia odors. As part of our chores, we'd have to scoop out the cedar chips and replace them with new ones. The newspaper below the chips became soaked with urine and would also need to be changed. When Weeder got bored or restless, she would bang her water bottle against the side of the cage. We'd take her out to clean her cage and she would bite us. Her two top incisors cut into our fingers quickly leaving behind a globule of blood.

After a few years, I went to middle school and began the long journey through puberty; years of discomfort, anxiety, self-consciousness, pain. I dealt with extreme depression and stuttered my way through class after class with no friends. I'd come home after school and hear Weeder begin to bang her water bottle against the glass wall of her cage. Bang! Bang! Bang! Weed! Weed! Weed! I'd clean out her cage; glass aquarium, cedar chip base, newspaper at the bottom.

I'd walk into my room and sulk. At dinner, my parents would talk over the noise, "Cathy has play practice tomorrow - Bang! Bang! Bang! -  and Jimmy has football practice until 7 pm. I can't do everything around here - Bang! Bang! Bang! -  Lindsay, are you going to be nice today, or what? I can't deal with your moods, why can't you cheer up? I work too hard for this shit - Bang! Bang!"

I'd casually refill Weeder's water bottle to try and get her to stop banging. Yet, every once in a while, I'd find that it was completely full. She must have just been really bored. Maybe she didn't have any friends and the banal suburban existence she'd been brought into had left her unfulfilled. I don't know.

Well, one day (I must have been in 8th grade?), I came home from school and walked past her cage on my way to my room. I looked to my left and saw her. She was lying on her side. Her mouth, open in a horrific, frozen expression; large incisors agape. She was dead.

I panicked.

I kept walking and went into my room without saying anything. I sat on my bed and cried. Not for sadness. For fear. I didn't know how my parents would react when they found out. They would probably blame it on me, wouldn't they? They'd say it was my fault, I had neglected her. I had, hadn't I? What if her water was empty? Oh god.

I went back out and casually walked past, barely glancing in: her bottle was full.

I went back to my room and went to bed early. The next day, I got up and got ready for school. I left for the day. Nothing happened. No one noticed that I was acting weird. They were probably glad that I was silent. My parents picked me up after school. Waiting to get in the car, I held my breath. Surely they had seen Weeder by now. And yet? Nothing.

Two more days went by. I'd get into the car after school and wait to see if they had bad news for me. I was terrified. I pray that I never know the level of anxiety and panic that I lived through for those three days.

On the fourth day, I climbed into the car. I can't even remember if it was my Dad or my Mom. But they waited for me to close the door and said, "I'm so sorry, I have some bad news..." I had to act like I was surprised. I think I said nothing. It worked. They assumed I was just sad. And, I was. I was really very sad. Poor little Weeder, she had laid in the bottom of that cage for 4 days (that I know of) waiting to be discovered. No one had noticed the silence, the absence of her banging the water bottle.

At home, my Mom and Dad had the whole thing planned out. Her empty cage was sitting a few feet away from me. I could finally look at it. My dad had dug a grave in the garden beside our house. He'd taken a plank of wood and written an epitaph to Piglet "Weeder" Johnston on it. I didn't know he had it in him. My mom stood at the back door holding a box that contained the body of our friend. She was crying. She handed me the box and nodded. It was a lavender, cloth covered square box. I think it held hold jewelry or something once. I carried the box to the grave and watched my Dad put it in. It was over.

That was one of the worst weeks of my life. It still stands. I still think about it a lot as an adult. It's been over 20 years. I find myself feeling horribly ashamed of how neglected Weeder was. I think about all those times I ignored her. Bang! Bang! Bang! I think about how odd my reaction was. I replay that night when I noticed she had died, and I imagine that I had said something to my mom. I did that a million times that week in my head and I do it still today. I was silent then and I am now too.

I think about her stinky cage: the way the ammonia soaked newspapers peeled away when I cleaned out her cage. The way we tried to clean half her cage at a time so that she wouldn't bite us. I think about the times she would run around and eat vegetables when we'd play with her. But mostly, mostly, I think about that box. Holding it in my hands, standing in front of my mom.

It was so heavy.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Free to a good home: Piece of Shit Nite Ize Headlamp!

Free to a good home! One Piece of Shit Nite Ize Headlamp!

Take me with you!

This Nite Ize (actual spelling) headlamp features a touch-sensitive - swipe - on/off switch. Which is great for those moments on the trail, in the dark, when you need to turn on your headlamp to see but would rather spend 15 minutes looking like an idiot trying to figure out how to turn on a headlamp: Do I push it harder? Should I swipe faster? Maybe my finger is too cold. How can I not get this!?!?!

This product retails for $34.99 and is worth every penny if you enjoy throwing money into the toilet. The website suggests that it will run for 225 hours on the low setting which is an absolute fucking lie.
Swipe left and right and NOTHING HAPPENS!

There're a lot of things I enjoy having fancy-schmancy touch technology on: My iPhone, my Kindle Fire, my iPod Touch Nano. But a headlamp? I mean, I get it if the whole arms-race of 'who has the most lumens' is a competition you know you're not going to win. But adding special features to a headlamp to set your company apart should still follow some sense of logic and reasoning. Do we really need a headlamp that you can program? How about shoes that also staple your important documents? No? Here's a hat that also checks your email. Here's an idea, how about a button you can push to turn it on and then off again! Or, maybe add a sensor that checks to see if the sun has come up and turns your light off. My first car had that technology; a simple sensor that could detect when I had driven underground in a parking garage. It was great.

A fancy chart of LIES!

If you're the kind of runner who likes to get caught in the dark, midway through your run, this headlamp is perfect for you. Good for up to 20 WHOLE MINUTES on BRAND NEW BATTERIES, this headlamp will get you just far enough away from civilization that you'll have to actually develop NIGHT VISION. I guess that's why they called it Nite Ize.

Maybe make the logo bigger?
IZE...really? I should have known by the spelling. Maybe the inability to spell "Night" correctly is a legal loophole that gets them out of any false advertising cases?

Anyways, I got this headlamp for free (if you count selling your soul and shilling for an overnight, running relay company counts as free) so I'm giving it to a good home for free. You have to pick it up and you can keep the now-dead-but-recently-brand-new-batteries-added-yesterday as a bonus.

Serious inquiries only.

Saturday, January 31, 2015

What I learned by running 31 days in a row sober

Beginning January 1st I set out to run every day for the entire month. It didn't have to be far; it just had to be something. Actually, that's not right: I didn't even think it through that much. It sort of just happened alongside this other thing I was not doing for the entire month: drinking booze.

To be honest, I just wanted to do something active everyday for a month. It ended up being running, and I'm glad it did. Here's what I've learned over the past 31 days:

A body in motion tends to stay in motion.
Last year, Ryan started the year out running everyday. He ended up keeping it going for the entire year - probably only missing 4 days or so. It was really cool to see the impact it had on him. I'm happy to say that the more I run, the more I enjoy it and look forward to it. I also never got sore. I'd get aches and pains, but I never really felt beat up. I guess my body adapted to running everyday and began to repair itself rapidly.

When something becomes a priority, you almost always have time for it.
Because running everyday was important to me, I always found time for it. Going out with friends was scheduled around my run. Working late meant running with a headlamp. Bad air meant using the treadmill and learning to be OK with it. In the past it's felt like I wanted to run, but could never find the time to fit it in, or I'd be too tired. Now, my day isn't complete until I get a run in.

Wait, did you say something earlier about not drinking all month? Can we go back to that?
Sure. Yes, I participated in Dry January this year: no booze at all. Here's what that whole deal taught me and how it worked out:

Day 1 - 15
I'm less nice sober. I'm mean. Not that I think that's a bad thing. But I guess I have a lot less patience with bullshit. Booze mellows me out.

(Day 15: This is going well, starting to worry about January ending. What am I gonna do when it's over?)

TEST: We went out of town for the weekend. Could I enjoy my trip without a celebratory post-run beer?

ANSWER: Yes. I brought along a butter-beer. It was yummy.

Day 16 - 20
I'm still not a morning person. I did get much better sleep this whole month, but I still think there's something wrong with people who get up at 4 to run in the dark.

(Day 22: Why haven't I lost more weight? I'm tracking calories, running, not drinking...)

TEST: We had a HUMR party. Would I be able to make it through the party sober?

ANSWER: Yes. Although I was very nervous and got very tired. I realized booze tends to lubricate social situations...but it only delays the anxiety. I'll just feel it the next day if I drink it away during the event.

Day 21 - 29
OK, maybe 8-9 lbs in almost 4 weeks is pretty good. Still, I don't understand why it has to be so hard.

Day 31: I received this letter emailed to myself via At the time, I legitimately thought January had 30 days in it - ha!

It reads:
Dear FutureMe, 
It's January 2nd, 2015 and you're on day two of your 30 day sobriety challenge. It's gone well for the past day and a half and I hope you are still on track.
First, if you are - congrats. Well done. I'm sure it has sucked at times. Please try to focus on the good.
Second, if you have messed up, this is an official mulligan email. You have now been given a second chance and a clean slate. Brush it off, forgive yourself, and keep going. It's like trying to run up a big hill. Even if you stop, it doesn't mean you turn around and go back down. If you have to walk, you can walk. After you begin walking, it doesn't mean you can't run again in a second. It won't kill you.
Hang in there. This was a good idea. I promise. Red Hot s coming up. Remember how bad you felt this time last year? How heavy you were?
Remember how fucked up things got after the race at the after-party? Don't go again. Do your own thing. You don't have to drink to enjoy Moab. I love you.

Sunday, January 25, 2015


B-team 4 life, bitches

I've decided to embrace a new philosophy I'm calling "B-Team." Some of you have taken note and asked me what it's all about. I'm still working out the details in my head, but I'll try to make sense of it here. I believe it came about because, in reality, I'm just not a starter. I'm not not a contender. I'm doing things that I think are amazing, no doubt. But I'm not doing anything that anyone else couldn't do. So, when Ryan and I took a trip to play in the desert in Saint George last weekend, it suddenly hit me: B-Team had come to town. No one saw us coming and we didn't set any expectations. It was our turn to worship the sun, play in the dirt, and find ourselves on the trails.

We do what we want.
What follows is an explanation of the B-Team philosophy and why I've adopted the B-Team lifestyle.

What is B-Team?

B-Team isn't about celebrating mediocrity. It's about letting go of our puppy-dog obsession with perfection. B-Team might fly under the radar; we certainly don't win races. We probably don't look super sexy after a long day in the dirt. (We definitely don't give a shit either.) B-Team might not be perfect, but we're a helluva lot more interesting. In short, B-Team doesn't give a fuck. I think it's high-time we started celebrating B-Team culture.
I'm not on the actual trail, but that's OK.

Who is B-Team?

Chances are, if you're reading this, you are B-Team. We all are. We're all somebody's B-Team on some level. Trail runners are B-Teamers to road marathoners. Anyone who doesn't own their own company is probably on B-Team. We're doers. We get shit done. We trail blaze (most of the time it's because we are lost). We're still figuring shit out, and we'll never be complete. We think the idea of being content is bullshit and we've decided to stop chasing after an unattainable dream. Instead, we focus on reality around us, and - get this - we actually enjoy it. 

Mike Rowe is B-Team. Tyler Durden was B-Team. HUMRS are B-Team. 
Stopping on the trail to take in the view is standard B-Team culture.

Is B-Team anti-A-Team?

No. We're not. We support all our friends. No matter what. But, we're not going to dance around someone's shitty behavior just because they're especially gifted, sponsored, or talented. I have a great boss at work who defended me a few months ago when I stood up to someone higher up the ladder than me. He said, "I don't care if he/she is the VP of being an asshole - no one gets to push you around." I really loved that sentiment. Seriously. If you are some shiny celebrity, or you run across a finish line in first place and then proceed to kick a dog, I'm gonna beat your ass.  I really don't give a fuck how important you think you are, or how popular you were in high school. Treat people like shit, and I will judge you.

I'm not trying to be a rock star. I'm putting the band together.

I'm tired. I'm tired of bullshit. I'm tired of spinning my wheels, giving it all I've got, in the hopes that I will one day be hand-selected. To be adored from afar. To 'make it.' I see a lot of people doing it too. We all do it. We all want to be rock stars. We all want to be famous, adored, and cherished. There's no shame in it - we were taught from a young age to follow our dreams. We idolized seemingly 'perfect' people: celebrities, popular kids, poster-children. We aspired to be prom queens, football stars, head cheerleaders. We have all been waiting to be discovered - to make it onto the A-Team. I don't like the polarization or the dichotomy of chasing a dream versus losing your passion. I am passionate about everything I do. I can be micro-ambitious and devote the same amount of passion and energy into my work, my writing, taking a photo, playing with my puppy, etc etc. It's just as important and it isn't mundane or less exciting than everyone else.

I had a bunch of personal stuff written earlier that I'd planned to share, but have decided against it. This post isn't about me. The truth is: It's always been difficult for me to find people who 'get' me. So, I apologize if the whole B-Team came off as a negative. I truly didnt mean for it to. I meant for it to be a positive outlook on my own situation. A way for me to say, "So, what?".

So, what, then? So, I'm going to enjoy what I do when I do it. I'm going to take my own trips. I'm going to sign up for races and listen to my music as loud as I want when I run. I'm going to remind myself through B-Team - that I like running. I don't have to run 100 miles to be considered serious. I don't have to be 'considered' anything. I'm not here to prove anything. I'm just here. And, I get to enjoy that.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Sneak Peak: Outdoor Retailer Hydration and Clothing Guide! Part II

Welcome to Part II of my Outdoor Retailer Sneak Peak & Gear Guide! We've already covered the hottest trends in running shoes. Now, let's take a look at what your favorite brands have in store for hydration and apparel!


You can lead a horse to water, but you can't convince him to buy your hydration product unless it includes the latest in hydro-technology! That's what I keep hearing, anyway, from all the top brands and innovative designers at this year's Outdoor Retailer Show. Here are my three favorite hydration solutions at OR Show:

Salomon: The Crushinator™ hand-held water bottle
Retails: $59.99

What their rep had to say:
"We needed to develop a fast, light-weight, easy to manage drinking solution to meet the needs of today's ultra-marathoner. We spoke to several key runners for feedback and tapped (get it?) the top minds from The University of Utah to develop this handy, crushable™ bottle. As you can see, its minimal structure allows runners to crush™ and compact the bottle once it's empty. You can stick it in the back of your shorts and keep running - it's virtually weightless!"

What our reviewer had to say:
"Sixty dollars may sound like a lot for a plastic water bottle, but how can you put a price on safety and convenience? When I'm running in a race, I want to be as light-weight as possible between aid stations. Crushing™ my bottle and sticking it in the back of my shorts frees up my hands to collect berries along the trail and fight off wildlife. Bonus points for being easy to refill in a hurry."

Asics: The Thirst Bust-er
Retail: $149.99

What their rep had to say:
"The trend in hydration packs has been moving towards added support and enhancement of a woman's best assets. After all, women runners? (Laughs) I mean, what's next? Women presidents?! Anyhow - this hydration bra is designed to keep our female 'runners' hydrated and perky on the trail. I think the product speaks for itself."

What our reviewer had to say:
"I've already gotten 4 phone numbers from friendly runners I've met on the trail! Good thing I've never had to develop my personality!"

A running bra that also hydrates?! Shut up and take my money!  This segways perfectly into our next segment on top running clothes from the OR Show:

Under Armor: The Bro 2000™
Retail: Just slightly less than any product similarly marketed to women

What their rep had to say:
"There is absolutely No SHAME in a man wanting to keep his ample pectorals from drooping just because he's an active runner! NONE! (Slams fists into table, shaking visibly) I have hundreds of close male friends, married guys, totally hetero, that want to keep from chaffing their nipples and bouncing on the trail. I have a wife, dammit!"

What our reviewer said:
"I've got to say, I was a bit uneasy about debuting this baby at my local Crossfit gym. But, once I started jump roping, every guy in the gym was tots jelly. I've never realized how far a little support can go."

Gregory: The Transient™ Pack
Retails: $2,999.99

What their rep had to say:
"Most people running a trail race, or even - god help them - a 50K, think they have enough gear when they go out with their fanny packs, race belts, and hydro-packs. Well, guess what? They don't. Say you get lost on the trail, say you fall and break your big toe! You think you're going to survive in the wilderness with that tiny 5lb pack on your back? Do you realize how fast you can go through 1.5 liters of water?! Every - single - time I see someone 'fast-packing' it through the wilderness, I shudder. I take a mental picture of them so that I can immediately call SAR when I get back to the trail head and report their whereabouts and last visual."

What our reviewer had to say:
"I've been living under the bridge downtown with my Transient™Pack for 6 weeks now without any problems! Ever since my life fell apart, this thing has been my best friend. Wanna come inside and have some cra—I mean, beer?"

Nike: X-treme Singlet™
Retail: $79.89

What their rep had to say:
"This light-weight, cotton poly blend shirt is perfect for trail runners in any climate! The button up/button down feature allows the wearer to manage their level of cool-comfort, and the short sleeves help keep the sun off your shoulders. It even comes with a handy little front pocket, perfect for gels, business cards, pens..."

What our reviewer had to say:
"I've been wearing button up plaid shirts on the trail since before it was ever cool. You're probably just hearing about it now. Just like my favorite bands. Ask me again in 5 years when they finally sell-out and become popular, I don't even care. I've gotta go write in my journal..."

Pearl Izumi: Trail Pro™ Body Gear
Retail: $249.99

What their rep had to say:
"Trail runners without Trail Pro™ Body Gear are putting their health at risk. You wouldn't drive a car without wearing a seat-belt, why would you run on the trails without similar protection? It's just common sense."

What our reviewer had to say:
"At first, I was afraid the other runners would make fun of me. But, my mom assured me that all the cool kids were wearing knee pads these days. In fact, I even heard her say, 'I like my trails like I like my men: Rough, Rugged, and Hard on the Knees!' I just know I'm going to be the most popular kid on the trail team this season!"

That's it for today, kids. Join us next time for more goodies from the 2015 Winter Outdoor Retailer Show!

Again, this blog is satire. It's what I like to call a joke. Have you heard this one? 'Why did Sally fall off the swing? - Because she had no arms.' Followed by this one, 'Knock Knock. (Who's there?) Not Sally.' Yeah, it's kind of mean and probably hurt someone's feelings. But if you're the kind of person who gets their feelings hurt that easily, I'm really surprised you made it this far. If you do not have a sense of humor, please stop reading my shit, and go back to your business of talking badly about me behind my back until you run into me again awkwardly at some gathering where we all used to be friends until you got all butt-hurt and decided you hated all of us.