Here it is. In long form… The Dash to the Warrior Dash. (Fuckery Defined)

I tried to write this right after the Dash and lost the whole thing on an ID-Ten-T error (I'm a nerd and if you know what that is without looking it up, then you are too)

Step 1: Register for Warrior Dash at last possible minute and pay maximum for taking so long. ($95)

Step 2: Reserve car days before trip. (Dodge Charger for the city special of $54 + gas & insurance. Booya!)

Step 3: Purchase many temporary tattoos and aggressive eyebrows and mustache. ($50 well spent)

Step 4: Shave head and Apply expensive tattoos at night.

Step 5: Apply cheaper tattoos in the morning.

 Step 6: Head into the city. So far so good. Even call Dollar Rent-a-car to insure everything is nice and ready. CONFRIMED ($2.50 Bus fare)

Step 7: Go pick up Dodge Charger from Dollar….and it begins….

Mumbling dude at counter

We don’t have any cars.

Young Bald Black Man with Tattoos on his face:

But I made a reservation.

Mumbling Douche at counter:   ßNote: Dude is now Douche

Yea but we don’t have any cars. Write your name on this list and we’ll call you when we do.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

What the fuck is the point of making a fucking reservation is you don’t have any fucking cars?

Note: I hate to be the guy cursing out the people at the counter because everybody there can see that it’s not really their fault and you just look like a complete tool but if you happen to be a Young Bald Black Man with Tattoos on his face, head, and arms….you really just look like a walking assault charge. (Props to Sasha for talking me out of getting arrested)

Fuck Dollar. I anit writing shit or sticking around for shit. I got places to go, fire to jump, beer to drink, and turkey leg with my name on it. There is an Avis around the corner.

Nice lady at Avis

I got an Altima I can give you right now (for twice the price you were paying at Dollar)

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

Fuck it. That’ll have to work.  *digging through wallet for card*

Nice lady at Avis

Oh we cant take that card. You need a credit card.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

Oh yea, of course *realizing I don’t have my credit cards because I didn’t really need them* …SHIT...I don’t have my cards. I took them out to protect me from me. Thank you.

Ok at this point my last alternative is to get a zipcar. Sure it’s the most expensive option but it’s all I got. I open my phone and find that there is ONE zipcar available on the entire island of Manhattan. It’s a Volvo and its going to cost $168 dollars plus an additional $44 bucks for the extra mileage that I will put on it during the 6 hours I’ll spend there and back. I have no choice. Bring on the pain. I click reserve and the car is magically gone. FUCK.

Now this is where any normal person would think about what is happening and decide to turn around and go home. Not me. I can never be normal, I’m a Lemon. We don’t like shallow graves, we dig until we reach the core of the earth, take a break for some whiskey and dig some more. So I hop on the bus to get my credit cards so can come back to get this Altima and hit the road. (another  $5 in bus fare) On my return I decide to stop by Dollar to see if they have cars now since I’d be spending so much more at Avis.

Mumbling Douche at counter:

I called you. You no answer. I leave voice mail.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

I have neither missed calls nor voicemails. (Either he’s lying or this is more Sprint fuckery)

We do all the paper work (Oh and those card i went to get were already maxed and couldn't be used anyway so my check card worked just fine) and he sends me down to get the car. Mind you my initial reservation was for 10am. It is now 1:15pm and my wave starts at 3:30pm. I have to drive 3 hours and pick up my packet at registration. GO!

Here it is. The attendant pulls my nice shiny…gold Mercury  Grand Marquis?

Fuck it. Hit the high way and I’m ghost. Speeding without a care since I’m pretty much in a cop car (or a gypsy cab. Either way, nobody wants to get pulled over or hit) I get to my first toll and realize I don’t have any cash. I frantically dig through my backpack and find a handful of change. I throw it in the bucket and I’m through the gate. Ok I spent all my cash going back and forth from Jersey to NYC on the bus but I can pull into a rest stop and get cash before I hit 87, right? Nope. The rest stops are all along 87, not before. Now I have to ride 17 until I find an ATM and can hop on 87. Unfortunately, rural upstate New York isn’t exactly ATM capitol so by the time I find one I’ve already driven pretty far up at a speed that just isn’t going to cut it.

I find a gas station with an ATM sign and pull in. I go to the ATM and begin my transaction. A woman walks into the gas station and takes a look at me, then I look at her and she walks right back out to her car and drives off.  I almost forgot my facial tattoos. Thanks for reminding me.

Now I have my cash, a Gatorade, and a protein bar since I haven’t eaten much more than an egg today. A cop car speeds into the gas station. I don’t know why he’s here but I’m not about to find out. I hop in my car and burn out as quick as possible. Hop on 87 and I’m making record time again. I’m going to miss my wave but I’m sure I can get them to let into the last one at 4:00pm.  I get up the mountain and get stuck behind a slow moving cop car. I’m frustrated but I know that if the cop wasn’t there I’d probably speed off the side of the mountain.

I pull into the parking lot at 4:20pm without paying the $10 for parking and see a sea of people covered in mud and awesomeness washing up at their cars. I’m at least going to get my Warrior Hat and t-shirt. I paid for that shit. I see the registration booth is nearly all packed up so I walk over and explain my troubles and they give me my hat and shirt without checking if I’m telling truth or not, then the guy at registration opens the sky and rains down hope.

Guy at registration

Well there’s another wave at 5pm. They should be able to get you in there. Just go over to that other booth and they should take care of it.

Young Bald Black man with Tattoos on his face:

Oh shit. It’s still going to happen. As long as I get to run, this whole clusterfuck was worth it.

I run over to the other booth and young woman says…

Oh those guys are just volunteers but let me see if you can just jump in now.

OK. It’s not dead yet. I’m still going to earn this Warrior Hat!

Young woman at booth

We are so glad you were able to make it down here get you stuff. We have the mud pit all set up and food and beer and tons of people.

Unfortunately they just started taking down the Start of the course a few minutes ago and because of insurance and liability we cannot allow you on the course.

It takes a second for her words to sink in. I was already wearing an ear to ear grin because I saw light at the end of this tunnel. She writes my information down and says they might be able to offer me a discount for next year’s dash, although I’m sure that post-it has been lost. I got there just in time to no compete. I walk into the arena and see all the people with beer and hats. All the families and groups of friends covered in mud and smiling. Not a single person walking, sitting or standing alone. Except me. By myself and clean. I walked out to the parking lot and there’s a motor home with what could only be the local NRA chapter yelling at cars as they pass by. There are more families embracing each other and how awesome it was. I think I actually saw one of them finish the race when I walked in. Then I saw a young black couple playfully rinsing each other off with water bottles. Laughing. Happy. I hop into my car and just sit there. I want to cry but the tears won’t come.  I drive out and hit the long road home.

My mom told me that with the events and my frustration with it all that I sounded exactly like my Dad, if only she could see how I shaved my head to look just like him as well and dedicated the Dash to him.  She told me how he’d get into situations where all he could do is sit there and think, “Shit. I fucked up and there is absolutely nothing I can do anymore.” Pushing as far as possible to salvage what he can, even to his detriment. I now know why because I’m the exact same way. I fought to make this happen with everything I had in me and lost. I spent lots of cash and time, both of which I’m not even really concerned with. The money is just paper, it literally comes from trees. They print more everyday and you can always get it if you really want it. The time will never come back neither will the time I spent writing this or the time you spent reading so it’s also a non issue. I haven't seen my watch since that day. That sucks. I search for it every single day. But what really hurt is my pride and maybe a few other intangible feelings that I’m now pretty bad at covering for long.  I tried my best and I lost. I know that actors are supposed to have tough skin but over the past couple of years that skin as all been rubbed away. Fortunately I still have an obscenely hard head so that should carry through until I grow new skin. As an isolated incident this wasn’t that big a deal and I can now laugh about it, but since it’s part of the glorious shit storm of what have been the BEST and WORST years of my life so far…well…I guess it’s easy to see why I’m raw and in many ways I’m broken.

I hope you got a laugh out of the first 95% of this.

My life, your entertainment.