#look at her FACE when franklin yells at april

[blackrosesfanfic]

Chapter 196

Next day

Cammie

I cried in the shower this morning. I cried changing Caden's diaper. I cried after crying because I couldn't believe I was crying. It's crazy even to me. Now I'm thinking about it and feeling like I'm going to cry.

"Jay, did you pack?" Trey asks. I sniff. "Jayla, come on, Love. You said you could do this. Why you making it hard?"

"I sorta think you don't have an attachment to our son."

He rolls his eyes. "We both know why it's easy for me and not easy for you. Has nothing to do with how much we love our son. Jayla it's not even that long. They only have enough breast milk for 48 hours. So it’s impossible for you to stay away for more than a day."

"48 is 2 days."

"They need extra in case of an emergency or theyre wasteful. So really about 30."

I sigh. "I can't be you."

He picks up a bag. "You don't have a dick, you short, and you cry too fucking much. You sure as hell can't be me. Are these your clothes?"

"I figured if it's a day, I won't need clothes."

"Jayla." he says sternly. "We are leaving in 2 hours."

I fall on the bed. "April is not even here."

"Rollie is taking them to April. You know that."

"I think my baby's first plane ride should be done with me."

"Exactly why we are leaving in 2 hours instead of at the end of the day. Cammie, you acting like a brat. We went over all of this. Were you crying too hard?"

I stand up and go get my bag out of the closet. "Maybe. I need some reason to say no."

"Camille! We are going..."

"Tremaine stop yelling." I snap.

He blows. "Im headed to the airport."

I come out the closet. "Already?"

"I can't be here with you going through... Whatever this is. What are you carrying?"

"My clothes." I say dropping the bag then kicking it. "Enough for 2 days."

"You have clothes in VA. 3 days."

I swat him off. "I can wear the same outfit."

He gets really mad. "No, the fuck you can't. What the fuck?"

"I... Whoa now. What is your problem?"

"You not married to no fucking clown. Ain't no way the wife of Trey Songz is going to be seen anywhere with an outfit she fucking wore two days before. What the fuck are you trying to do? Give the fucking blogs some A1 shit to fucking talk about? Fuck no. You put 4 fucking outfits in that bitch after talking like that."

I sit on the bed and cross my arms. "I don't want to go anymore."

"I can't believe that shit. I must be broke as fuck or fucking stingy as a bitch. Hell no."

"I have 3 outfits. Shut up." I say resting my head on the bed.

Trey grabs the bag then checks it. He goes back out of the door. I'm going to just sit here and cry again. I get out of bed to go get Caden so I can snuggle with him. I never usually bother him while he is sleeping.

"Aye, don't even try that nigga. When the last time a song of yours was played twice in the same day? Centuries ago. Back before Benjamin Franklin. He wasn't even a president."

"Why are you running your mouth in here?" I snap standing in front of Trey.

He laughs really hard then grabs my waist. "Not even. No. Aye, what's your name again?"

I push him off of me. He kisses my cheek really quick then he walks away laughing. He so fake. Ain't shit that funny on that phone. Him and his friends annoy me. They will go without talking for months then plan to do something and talk for hours in the days coming up to the event. I bet any amount of money he talking to J. Cole.

"Mommy." Lane cries.

"In there. Don't wake Caden up. Yo? Caden not big enough to talk... What?"

Lane stomps into the room. "Mommy." he says like he angry.

I turn to him. "Lane, how may I help you?"

"Nanma coming?"

"Rollie is taking you to Grandma."

He sticks as much of his head as he could into the rails of the crib. I push his face back. He could really get stuck like that. He falls out on the ground. No crying. No nothing. He just lies there. That fellow is a mess. I look at him until he looks at me. I raise my eyebrows then smile. He jerks his body away to hide his smile.

"You are so cute, Lane. I love you."

"Love you." he says.

He always forgets whatever is going on when I tell him I love him. He makes sure he tells me back. I pick Caden up out of the crib. Lane's face was right there watching. He was looking like I was doing wrong. He was waiting for Caden to cry. He was sure he would. I kiss Caden then take him to the rocking chair. Lane follows.

"Mommy, Nana coming?"

"Yes, Grandma April coming to the car to pick you and Caden up."

"Caden go to grandma house?" Lane asks worried.

I smile. "Yes."

He puts the blanket over Caden. "Caden. Caden sleep?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I stare at him. "We not starting this. Since when do you ask Why?"

"Cause." he shrugs.

"Okay, Lane. Want to share my lap?"

He starts climbing. "Yes."

I put Caden on my shoulder and help Lane into my lap. He wanted to lay down as well. He didn't want to simply sit on my lap. I start rocking with both of them. Surprisingly, Lane lies there then he starts talking random ass talk. I don't know what he talking about. He not expecting an answer so I let him talk. Trey looks into the room then he grabs a bag by the door. I'm being a bad mom. I didn't pack nothing for either of the boys. Not one thing. Trey has done everything. I'm sure he had help from April.

"Ma, call her yourself. Why?" Trey sucks his teeth then appear back in front of the door. "Where is Caden's insurance card?"

"Why?" I snap.

He disappears. "Why? Cause what? Fuck if I know, April. Oh."

I chuckle. I know why. Just being a bitch. I don't want Caden or Lane to go. This is why it was a good thing for me to keep my baby to myself. I was worst with Lane. Hell I took my fucking infant to Europe. Who does that?

"Jay, just in case Caden needs to go to the doctor. Do we have one for Caden?"

"Is he on your insurance?"

Trey comes all the way in the room staring at me. "Jayla, stop. What do you use... Don't worry about it. I'll look online."

"It's in the baby bag already."

"I changed baby bags."

I raise my eyebrows. "Do you put the clear bag with fingernail clips and stuff back?"

"Yeah."

"Then it's in there."

"Why the fu... You could have said that." he shakes his head walking out. "I swear. The shit I deal with."

I rock my babies.

  Amber

"I have absolutely nothing to do."

"Why did you come to Chicago then?" Chris snaps scratching his balls in the middle of the floor.

I shake my head. "You are not cute."

He smells his hand then turn up his nose. "I'm not fresh either."

"Shut up."

"Why you came to Chicago? Tell me."

I lay back on the headboard. "I had something to do. I did it duh. Plus I wanted to surprise you, dumbass."

"Your ass lying."

"Christopher."

"Maurice Brown... Anything else your lying ass got to say?"

I laugh. "What are you talking about? I was thinking we smoke a blunt."

"What happened to you cleansing your damn body?"

"You know how hard it is to eat right and not drink or smoke?"

He shrugs then starts walking to the bathroom. "Cammie does it all."

I chuckle and cross my legs in the air. "Cammie is a perfect ass bitchy goody two shoes. I done said fuck her for a while. Anyway."

"But she does it." he snaps.

"Oh, shut up. Bitter." I say reaching to the end table where I had weed for him.

I scream. He had jumped on the bed scaring the shit out of me. I slap his side. He puts his hand over my face. I fight with him. It was hard as fuck to get his hand off of me. I scream thinking that would get him to get off me. He just laughs. I dig my nails into his side. He only moves out of the way. How the hell he can be so far away yet still touch me. I give up. He continues laughing.

"You smell my balls?"

"Awwwh." I scream fighting him again.

He laughs then moves. "You scared of a little dick and booty on your face?"

"You fucking nasty."

"Huh?" he says coming back to the bed.

I look at him then try to hide my face. It looks like this nigga wiped his hand under his stank ass balls again. He grabs my arm. I scream and kick him then jump off of the bed. He laughs really hard. He so dramatic. He holds his stomach and throws his head back. I run and jump on the bed then jump on him.

"Fuck!" he yells as we both hit the floor. "Bitch."

"Motherfucking bad ass bitch."

He tries to put his hand in my face again. I smack it out of the way. He drops it to the ground and take a deep breath. I fucking won. He puts his hand to his face then drop it again. He had put the blunt back in his mouth. I kiss his face as he lies there with the blunt between his lips. He chuckles.

"You still a bitch." he says.

"Yeah yeah."

He sits up making me back up. He falls back like he didn't have no energy. I watch him. He flicks a lighter lighting the blunt. I grind on him. He blows the smoke at me. I mean I have been not drinking and all that but I'm just not feeling it. I feel like your mind has to be fully committed to something for it to benefit you. I'm just stressing myself out trying to live life like someone else. It's just not me. It's not us. We don't do either.

"So you stop smoking and I'll get back on my cleansing."

"What's wrong with weed?"

I snatch it out his mouth. "Tobacco."

He chuckles. "Oh. Well..."

"You are not even supposed to be smoking if you detoxing from liquor anyway. That's why you can't stick to that either."

"I drink less than I used to."

I roll my eyes. "Trey does it."

He laughs. "Bullshit. Shut up. He never smoked cigarettes like I do. Fuck Trey..."

"You want to?"

"Fuck my fucking brother?"

"Technically..."

He gets in my face. "Technically, shit. You know what I was saying any fucking way. Get your stank ass off me."

"That's how you feeling?" I laugh pushing him back.

"You know what I'm feeling?" he blows smoke in my face. I shrug. "You cool as fuck. I almost felt guilty about being selfish and making you mine. Almost. If I had a bit of that stuff that make you not selfish. I think you perfect. For someone else."

I laugh. "That almost sounded sweet."

"Let's go to Dubai. Remember what happened in Du fucking bai?"

"No." I frown snatching the blunt. "What the fuck happened in Dubai? Between us?"

He lies back. "You know."

I look at his face. "No, Chris, I do not."

"What?" he looks at me. "We fucked in Dubai. I thought you was just fucking with me cause we said we would act like it never happened."

"Chris, we did not fuck in Dubai."

He sits up. "We did. I remember."

"No."

"You weren't too drunk to fucking remember. We were on that yacht with the Olympic sized pool. In the towel room after they left us in the sauna."

I cross my arms. "You remember too many details. Were you even fucking drinking?"

He grabs my wrist and shakes my arms apart. "Come on, we barely drunk anything. We got shit faced after though."

"Christopher that was not me."

"Cammie threw up cause it was her first time on a yacht."

I hit him. "Cammie's ass threw up cause she was fucking pregnant with Lane. She been on a damn yacht with Trey's ass."

"Oh."

"I remember her throwing up. We didn't fuck. We were just..."

"We fucked."

I laugh. "That totally slipped my mind. In the towel room. Oh my gosh."

He chuckles laying back. "It was quick no lie."

"It was like 2 seconds of a fuck. Like a damn movie clip. Bam against the wall dramatically..." I throw my hands up. "Towels falling everywhere. One pump, two pump, three pump... Bang on the cart. Towels everywhere! Bam... Bam against the wall. Dramatic fall on top of towels... Screen cut. Sweating, panting, and dazing into the camera. Wow. Okay let's not tell anyone about. Yeah. Okay. Molly washed down with Hennessy?"

He laughs uncontrollably. "It was not a Molly."

"What the case." I throw my hands up.

"You a bitch yo. I remember it being fly."

"Christopher have you been holding on to that memory? What happened to forgetting the shit?"

He wipes his face. "I'm sitting here sweating from the thought. Forget it why?"

"Cause we agreed."

"I just thought we agreed as in don't fucking tell my fucking girlfriend who bout to come around the corner with Cammie. Best 10 minutes..."

"3."

He grabs my face. "You don't have to be so accurate. In my defense I been waiting for that for a while."

"You a bullshitting lie." I say hitting his arm.

"Sevyn... Amber, Honey, shut the fuck up. I try to treat you like an average ass hoe but you just won't let me."

I stand up. "Am I fucking average?"

"You fucking fine. Perfect."

"Perfectly above average, bitch. Still make you cum in 2 minutes."

"Three!" he spats.

I laugh. "Yeah."

He laughs until he starts coughing with his fucking fucked up lungs. He sits up holding his chest and trying not to cough.

"Breathe bitch." I say hitting his back.

That made his mean ass stop coughing but he comes for me. I hop across the bed out of his way. I slap a balloon across the bed into his face. He smacks it then coughs a little fake cough. I chuckle hitting another balloon. He grabs it.

"Can I stick my dick in this?" he says grabbing his dick and putting the balloon lips to it.

"Are we going to Dubai?"

He shrugs. "If you want. Let's go."

"It's whatever. Stop raping that balloon and come in the shower."

"Don't beg." he says busting the balloon with the blunt.

I suck my teeth. "Really, Chris!"

He shrugs. "That bitch was fake."

[billyagogo]

'I thought we were going to die.' Muslim mom recounts SUV attack in NJ

New Post has been published on https://newsprofixpro.com/moxie/2020/05/15/i-thought-we-were-going-to-die-muslim-mom-recounts-suv-attack-in-nj/

'I thought we were going to die.' Muslim mom recounts SUV attack in NJ

  Bergen County woman in alleged hate attack said she doesn’t want to be seen as a victim, but wants people to know what Muslims face.

NorthJersey.comWOODLAND PARK, N.J. – She sat in shock in her Toyota Camry, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, her 16-year-old son beside her. A second earlier, an SUV had sped up in the Carvel parking lot and slammed into the driver’s side of her car – intentionally.They sat, their car disabled, as he reversed to do it again. As she heard the revving of the engine, she thought this might be the day they die.“You get into that mode. How am I going to protect my kid? I’m thinking next he’s going to pull out a gun and we’re going to get shot. It’s the craziest feeling,” said the 39-year-old woman, recounting the April 21 attack on Franklin Street in Nutley.The Bergen County woman did not know her terrorizer, had never seen him before that day when she stopped at an ice cream shop and, she said, he started screaming anti-Muslim slurs, calling her a terrorist and saying he hated her.She told him, “You’re calling me a terrorist, but here you are terrorizing me.” She asked those in the store, “Aren’t you going to do anything?” she said.She thought the encounter would end when she left the store. But according to the woman, as she drove out of the parking lot, he exited an entrance-only driveway, waited for her approaching car and then struck them, twice.Township police arrested Michael Morrison, 55, at his Nutley home later that day, charging him with aggravated assault, bias intimidation and other crimes. His alleged target shared her story publicly for the first time in an interview this week. She asked to not be named to protect her family’s safety.She said it’s not the first time she’s been accosted because of her faith – visible for all to see because she wears a niqab, a traditional Islamic veil that covers her face except for her eyes. He struck her car with such force, she said, that she continues to suffer from wrist, elbow, hip and back pain weeks later, while her son has shoulder and knee pain. Then there’s the emotional toll – the fear she feels for herself and her family as someone who is a visible member of the Muslim faith. The alleged attack comes amid a rise in reported hate crimes across New Jersey and the rest of the U.S. targeting people for their perceived race, ethnicity or religion. New Jersey reported 561 bias crimes last year, for the third consecutive annual increase.Hate rhetoric in politics, media and online forums has targeted Muslims and, many believe, has put them squarely at risk. That’s especially true for women who may be more identifiable because of how they dress.On the same day as the Nutley incident, Amani al-Khatahtbeh, a Muslim candidate for Congress in central Jersey, got a phone call at her parent’s home in East Brunswick from a man spouting slurs and threats of violence against her and her family.The mother in Nutley, who was born in the United States and converted to Islam, said she  did not want to be viewed as a victim.“I’m only doing this because I want to show the injustice that happens against Muslims,” she said. “I want to show what really happens to Muslim women, to Muslims period.  I want to be a voice.”  Born in New York City and raised in Florida, the woman said she grew up Christian and attended Methodist services before branching out to explore other religions. It was Islam that struck a chord.She converted 10 years ago and started wearing the niqab three years later. The niqab, she felt, was never an obstacle. She attended college in New Jersey, where she became vice president of service for the school’s National Honor Society and president of the Muslim Student Association.After graduation, she started a business making and selling natural bath and body products. Three years ago, the woman founded a nonprofit to help foster children in New Jersey, organizing a summer camp program and back-to-school supply drives, she said. At times, she has felt people’s stares in public, but she does not judge. They could be looking at her because they are curious or interested, and not necessarily because they mean harm, she said.The first time she was attacked was earlier this year while she was shopping at a grocery store in Lyndhurst. She said she was browsing shelves when a woman approached and started yelling that she was disgusting and should go back to her country. Then the woman grabbed a shopping cart and started shoving it into her.“It never really crossed my mind somebody would do something like that,” she said. “I am from this country.“I was so shook, I couldn’t even press record on my phone to record it,” she added. “After, I felt so bad that I couldn’t handle that situation. I look at myself like a strong woman. This was one of those times in my life that I felt I wasn’t in control.”She called police but without witnesses, it was one word against another and there was not much they could do, she said.So when she was attacked in April, she had the foresight to take a photo of the other driver’s license plate. He had said he hated her and wanted to kill her, but she thought the worst he might do was tailgate. Instead, he drove at her. He hit so hard that one of her tires bent in.“I definitely thought we were going to die. Everything he was saying, his threats, he was trying to do what he said he would do,” she said.He tried to strike a third time, but she was able to move her car by then. After he fled the scene, she asked witnesses if they could stay to talk to police. Morrison remains in jail at the Essex County Correctional Facility in Newark. “We cannot comment about open cases except to say that anyone charged with a crime is innocent until and unless they are proven otherwise,” said Jennifer Sellitti, a spokeswoman for the state Public Defender’s Office, which is representing Morrison.Along with the bias and assault counts, he faces charges of making terroristic threats, unlawful possession of a weapon – his car – and possession of a weapon with an unlawful purpose.Morrison appeared May 1 in Essex County Superior Court, but the judge ended proceedings after the defendant began shouting that he didn’t recognize the court’s jurisdiction, according to Katherine Carter, the prosecutor’s spokeswoman. Morrison was ordered to undergo a mental health evaluation.Morrison pled guilty to terroristic threats in a 2014 case in which he threatened to kill another person, according to court records. He was sentenced to two years of probation.The Bergen woman said the stress of last month’s attack has exacerbated her asthma. Insurance won’t cover damage to her car because it was an intentional act and not an accident, she said. She worries about her son: “He always acts like he’s the one who has to protect me or take care of me. I don’t know how he feels. He’s a teenage boy.”She considers herself a social person, noting her involvement in community organizations and charitable work. But for now, she doesn’t want to go out much.“I am Muslim,” she said. “I have faith in Allah. That’s a huge part that helps me get through this. It keeps me going and helps me understand and process this.”Follow Hannan Adely onTwitter: @adelyreporter AutoplayShow ThumbnailsShow CaptionsLast SlideNext SlideRead or Share this story: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/nation/2020/05/15/muslim-woman-feared-her-life-during-alleged-bias-attack-nj/5197034002/Find New & Used CarsNew CarsUsed CarsofPowered by Cars.com Read More

[wearingspaceismyshit]

Living Dead Girl [Short Story]

As I stepped into the dark cemetery, warm tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t believe her death, that her death was real. I walked slowly with my shovel and flashlight in hand. I shined the light over a few gravestones, looking for her. The wind blew heavily. A storm was brewing. Suddenly, my blood runs cold when I saw her name on the stone: “Here lies Amy Rose, Born 1996, died April 25 2014.”

My girlfriend, Amy, died about week earlier in a brutal train crash. She was riding home from her family’s reunion. The train derailed and flipped. She was the only casualty, and the most gruesome. I didn’t hear about until I saw the news that night. I remember my heart stopped And I fell to my knees.

I stood there, staring at the grave. The freshly placed stone glistened from the shine of my light. The letters deeply dug into the stone. I stood there for a while, just staring at the grave. I couldn’t accept it. I just couldn’t. “God forgive me for what I am about to do.” I whispered to myself. I slammed my shovel down into the soft soil below the stone. I lift up the dirt and toss it over my shoulder. I did so a couple times then leaned on the shovel. I looked down in the grave. my mind rushed with memories of her. I remembered her soft black hair, her pale skin, her bright eyes; She was beautiful. I shook my head, and continued.

After 20 minutes, I reached her coffin. It’s black shine still coated the case. I slid into the hole and rested my hand on the coffin. I had second thoughts, but it was too late for those. I slowly pulled open the casket. As I opened, more tears ran down my cheeks. She looked as the day she died. Her family must’ve had the funeral home put preservatives in her skin to keep it fresh. Her skin was white as snow. Her hair was matted, a portion ripped from her skull. cuts and gashes swarmed around her body. and, finally, her left arm was missing.

I covered my mouth to muffle the deep sobs. I looked down, staring into her now drained eyes. There she was, my love, dead, in a grave.

I quickly jumped out of the grave and ran to my car. I swung open the car door and grabbed a long blanket. I threw it over my shoulder and dashed back to her grave. I walked quietly back to her grave and peered down. Still there; as if she would’ve walked away. I hopped into the hole and covered her with the blanket. I wrapped her up carefully and picked her up. her limp and cold body against mine. I carefully placed her on the ledge and hopped out. I picked her up again and walked to the car. My mind drifted again, thinking of her and if my plan would work.

I placed her nicely on in the back seat of my car and shut the door. I quickly got into the front seat and started the car. The car sprang to life and I drove off.

The red numbers on the dash read 1:45. I was exhausted, but I had to get back my love. The roads were lonely and dark. Not a car in sight. The storm above worsened, and I heard the light sound of thunder. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the power station. I pulled in front of the station and halted to a stop. A wire fence guarded against any intruders. I bolted to my trunk and unlocked it. I threw it open and grabbed the bolt cutters and jumper cables I had brought along. I headed to the fence and stared at it. I hesitated, then started cutting the fence. I cut enough of the fence for me to get through. Then, I hurried back to my car and opened the back door. Amy laid there, motionless.

I carefully scooped her up and carried her to the fence. I adjust my body to fit between the fence. My body scraped against the the cut wires, scratching me deeply. A sharp barb plunged itself into my cheek, and pulled across. I quickly jumped away at the pain onto the other side. As I jumped, The barb ripped my whole cheek. Blood poured down from my wound. I brushed it off and made my way into the middle of the power station. There stood four towers, each connected to power lines. I placed down Amy and rushed over to the main panel. I used my bolt cutters like a crowbar and pried the hatch open. Inside the panel, were two nodes used for jumping cars or the other generators. I clipped the jumper cables quickly to the nodes and walked over to my love. I unwrapped her and gazed into her unblinking eyes. “Y’know, love do crazy things to a guy,” I nervously laugh at my own remark. She said nothing. I looked away for a moment, then back to her. “I am So sorry I wasn’t there for you,” I said, “But, I’m here now.” She, once again, said nothing.

I retrieved a copper rod from my hoodie. both ends were sharp to the touch. I lightly pressed the rod against the side of her neck and closed my eyes. Then, I shoved hard and heard the sound of ripping flesh and bone. I pushed hard until the tip reached the other side. I opened my eyes nervously. I turned away and threw up onto the ground. Tears rained down my face like a raging river. I turned back around and finished my work.

I grabbed my jumper cables and hovered them over the copper. I shook my head and quickly clamped the cables to the copper. My arms suddenly tensed up. I felt my lungs try to scream in pain, but nothing came out. My hands clamped hard down on the cable. I gritted my teeth down hard, chipping a few. I finally got the strength to let go and fall back.

I heaved in cold air, my body twitching a bit. I looked up at the sky, just now realizing what was doing. Tears stung my eyes once more, and I covered my face. “I’m an idiot thinking this would work.” I thought to myself. I sobbed deeply, turning to my side. Just as I had given up hope, like a random act of God, a lightning bolt struck the top of one of the towers. I jumped at the sudden noise and covered my ears. I buried my face in the ground, protecting it from any debris. My ears were ringing and I could hear my own heart beating.

I finally uncovered my ears, and sat up. I turned to Amy and sighed. “Idiot.” I insulted myself. But, just as I was about to get up, I heard her body shuffle. I quickly turned around and saw her, standing there. Her eyes wide and bright. “A-Amy…?” I said quietly. She slightly tilted her head. “S...tei...n?” she said, barely above a whisper. I walked to her and touched her hand to mine. “I-It’s me, you’re love, Franklin.” I said, nervously. She just looked into my eyes. “Is….you....Stein…?” she said, softly. I nodded, “Yes, it’s Franklin Stein, you’re love.”

She looked down and noticed her left arm missing. Her facial expression quickly changed. “What...happen...to me?” She said, worryingly. I turned away from her, then back, “Y-You...died.” Her face turned to shock. “Me,...Dead?” her voice getting louder. I quickly put my hands on her shoulders, “D-Don’t panic.” I said, “You’re here no-” she quickly cut me off with a loud wale. She backed away from me in a state of panic. I approached her carefully. “A-Amy, please, I can help….” I said, softly. She just cried loudly again. Then, suddenly, she ripped off the cables, ran passed me, and to the opening in the fence. “Wait!!” I yelled. It was already too late.

I searched for her the rest of the night, but I couldn’t find her. After my search, I drove home, snuck into the house, and went to bed. I thought of her that night. Wherever she was, she was in a living hell. Not being able to die, to live forever, and I was the one who brought that upon her. I made her have the horrible fate. I made her, a Living Dead Girl.  

#this was my first story #dont judge me too hard #horror #sad story #short story #sad ending

[kc4ksu]

Transition

Ironman Texas 2017, in Houston, Saturday, April 22, handed me a proposal on the word quit. On my bike in this race at mile 90 is when I decided to look into this proposal. I studied it in depth for 22 miles until I reached 112. Those 22 humiliating miles highlighted every reason why I should quit. I was convinced, by mile 112, to quit. It was time to vacate this race.

Plan A, my only plan, was to compete with the elite for a Kona Qualifying spot.  

“If you fail to plan you are planning to fail,” Benjamin Franklin. And, I failed to make a back-up plan, a Plan B.   

I have two incredible nieces and nephew, and their ages together add up to less than 22. I call them The Minions. 

A couple weeks post-Ironman Texas The Minions and I watched an animated movie. One scene in particular caught our attention. It was about a hippopotamus and its naive audience at a zoo. The audience, who went silent at first sight of this incredible four-legged beast, erupted into excitement after a quick study. They had never laid eyes on an animal of this stature.

The hippo’s reaction to its audience was quite different. It stood motionless for a moment facing the audience and analyzing the situation. Then, casually turned 180 degrees, and began to spin its tail at increasing speed. A loud sound squeaked from its butt to provide the gift of smell to its audience. Then came the big surprise! Its tail launched dung in all directions. The audience’s faces were splattered with poo.

The poo-stricken faces reminded me of Ironman Texas and an inability to avoid disaster.

“I’m done, man. My legs and arms have been cramping since mile 90 on the bike. I ‘soft peddled’ the last 22 miles. Mentally and physically, everything is gone. Honestly, Newland, I can’t wrap my mind around a marathon at this point. A ‘finish’ isn’t why I’m here,” I said to Jason Newland who stood opposite me on the spectator side of a 4-foot tall chain link fence. 

I was several hundred steps away from the T2 tent where I would soon, but not soon enough, disappear and hide from reality, or so I thought.

Both my arms draped over the chain-link fence, and as I looked at Newland he was at a loss for words. My actions weren’t fair to him as we stood face to face in this awkward situation. It was our current reality, and 180 degrees from this morning’s high fives in anticipation of crushing the race.

“Come on man, you don’t have anything to prove. It’s totally cool if you hand in your chip and call it a day,” Newland said.

Exactly what I wanted to hear! Newland’s words were comforting. Permission for freedom. It was so eloquent in this moment of despair. A type of despair I call a First World Problem. This is a problem we can easily escape by making a choice. For example, I choose to eat because I’m hungry. It’s not a life or death situation.

“Hey, one more thing,” Newland said loud enough to hear as I started walking towards T2. “You might regret it if you quit.

He deleted the one comfortable thought in my head. Newland cracked my skull open, reached in and pulled out every ‘you don’t have anything to prove’ thought, and crushed all justifications to support the proposal I studied for 22 miles on the word quit. A 26.2 mile run seemed impractical. No, it seemed impossible.

Liz, my wife, landed in Mallorca, Spain, at about the same time I was in my First World Problem. She booked this trip to shadow one of the best tri-coaches ever for a week, Brett Sutton, . She was devastated with the overlap on her trip with Ironman Texas. But this opportunity to shadow Sutton was a no-brainer to continue developing her coaching skills. 

At Ironman Texas Liz wanted someone there for me who would say the right thing at the right time, especially in adverse situations.

She chose Newland. 

Liz said, “Newland’s the next best thing besides me at Ironman Texas.”  

Good choice. He’s a natural leader with a no-nonsence attitude, and no filter between his thoughts and mouth. He is sought after successful pediatric infectious disease MD at Wash U in St Louis. A 2x IM Kona Qualifier. And, simply put, he is a hell of a friend with a history of rising above anything or anyone who poses a challenge to success.

As I continued to walk further away from Newland, and closer to T2, athletes ran past me on my left side. My mind was so far out of this race. It wasn’t a race at this point. I welcomed each athlete to hit me on my left shoulder when they passed, and most did. 

I really wished for someone to run me over like Bo Jackson did to Brian Bosworth during their first and only meeting in an NFL game. I wanted someone to put my lights out before I reached the T2 tent.

“Yep, look at that guy. The one who obviously went out too hard on his bike, or messed up his nutrition, or both. He is now mentally and physically broke. Rookie mistake! Enjoy walking that marathon! It’s gonna be a long day,” said my irrational state of mind as I caved in more to my First World Problem.

Once I reached the T2 tent I really didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to find my ‘alone’ space. 

I found a chair. And I just sat there mentally numb and watched athletes come in, transition to their running shoes, and disappear towards the start of a 26.2 mile journey.

I realized, for the first time, most athletes in T2 suffer from temporary dementia. It’s the magic that involuntarily suppresses the gravity of running a marathon after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike.

I was dealing with a reality of a piss-poor attitude. It’s on the other side of the spectrum from magic.

There were several non-helpful comments from athletes experiencing dementia while I sat in T2 suffering from reality.

“Walk the marathon.”

“Stand up and put one foot in front of the other.”

“Take salt. It works.”

“I’m a really slow runner. Come with me. I know you can keep my pace.”

“The wind was brutal out there on the bike, dude. I know how you feel.”

This was like being in the middle of a twitter shit-storm and no way to exit the app. Newland’s comment on ‘regret’ was my platform to a Plan B.

The last thing Liz needed was to be in a worry state-of-mind if I quit. She was starting her exciting journey in Spain.

Newland took time away from his family, and work to be here. I would be a quintessential impression of an asshole by virtue of quitting.

“Excuses are like assholes. Everyone’s got one and they all smell like shit,” Todd Dicus has said many times. One of his many memorable quotes.

I thought about Brother D, Todd Dicus, and all the blood, sweat and swears we shared on our bike trainers this past winter. He was gritting through this same race, which was his 11th Ironman. 

My family’s support is unconditional. It’s there no matter what, and I needed to find a way to apply the same unconditional thinking about the marathon. 

Michelle Simmons applied insightful training strategies, and painful training sessions, the past several years. Consistency with these training sessions each day provided me a lot of growth as a triathlete, and as a person. So how would I answer the question when she asks why I quit? Would my answer feel justified? No, it wouldn’t.        

And, finally The Minions! 

“Uncle Casey, did you win your race?” One of them would ask it. Finishing is winning in their mind. Ironman distance triathlons teach adults this attitude if they don’t already believe it. I witnessed hundreds, maybe thousands of adults over the years cross the finish line with the expression of winning by finishing in less than 10 hours or near the race cutoff at 17 hours.  

For so many teachable reasons my answer to their question couldn’t be, “You know what, it was just too hard and I quit.”

My sister, Aubrey Urban, sent a video of The Minions wishing me luck the night prior to Ironman Texas. I watched and listened to it over and over again in my head as a sat in T2. 

This was it. This was the magic. The temporary dementia. The game-changer. HOPE. 

T2 became my place to recover from the swim, bike and bonk, and not a place to hide. I began to prep for another race for the 2nd time in one day. I finally had a platform for a solid Plan B.  

“Hey, is there a time limit on how long someone can stay in this tent?” I asked an official.

“Na, I don't think so. Never been asked that question. I guess stay as long as you want as long as you finish the marathon by midnight,” responded the official. 

Volunteers handed me water that I previously denied. I slowly took in calories from food and gels, and electrolytes from salt. I stood up from my chair, walked back and forth, and sat down again.

I repeated this process until the cramping disappeared and my stomach relaxed enough to absorb nutrition.

It was time to let go. I placed my usual securities I wear and carry with me back in the T2 bag, like my Fuel Belt I wear around my waist with hydration and nutrition. My hat, arm coolers, and a cotton cloth I usually tie loosely around my neck to keep the sun off my skin, also went back in the T2 bag.  

I slipped on my sunglasses and race belt with bib number 260, and exited the T2 tent towards the next timing mat where the marathon officially started.

The first person I saw was Dave Dicus, Brother D’s son. He assured me Brother D was crushing his race.

The next person I saw was Newland. He was standing near the timing mat at the run start. I could see by the way he relaxed his body language he was relieved, and curious.

“Go! What are you doing? Go! Come on, let’s go!!” yelled Newland. Now, to translate Newland talk. This means are you okay? You look okay? What the bleep were you doing? Looks like you didn’t quit. Nice job. But now it’s real. Go run!

Simmons and I discussed running off heart rate instead of watching my pace in this race. Previous Ironman distant races showed my heart rate slowing in the second half of the marathon, along with pace.  

Many variables lead to lower heart rate like nutrition. But together we believe I focus too much on pace, and frustration sets in when I feel I can’t hold the pace I need from mile 14 through 26.2. It’s a mental block. The pace is there because we see it in training.

Heart rate was the one goal I still had left, and I set out to keep it close to 150 beats per minute on average through 26.2 miles.

Running a marathon after a 2.4 mile swim and 112 mile bike really makes no logical sense. But I truly love it. Because, this is the part of the race where all participants are stripped down to their core and everything is exposed like training, preparation, nutrition, attitude and extreme mental fortitude. There is no more faking it. The temporary dementia most athletes experience in T2 is truly temporary, magic disappears and reality takes its place.

So as I gained momentum from a walk to run I crossed the timing mat, and said to Newland, “I’m gonna give it my best shot. Let’s see what’s gonna happen.”

I started this run with a very simple frame of mind, “just run and enjoy the freedom of running.”  

As Newland’s voice drifted off I formed a small tiny dot, a mental place, in the back of my head. It was my magic place. With my eyes down and in front of me I focused on that small tiny dot, and never left it for 25 miles.

The cramps constantly pinged my muscles, but every time they surfaced I literally said out loud to myself “<bleep> you.” 

Four miles into the marathon and I was still running! I felt damn good except for the constant cramps poking at my hamstrings and quads. At every aid station I splashed myself with water and ice, drank Gatorade and Coke. And, at the end of each station I grabbed calories for the road. In between aid stations I constantly took in salt.

After each aid station it was back to the small tiny dot, and a lot of “<bleep> you’s” at the cramps until I reached the next aid station. Water, ice, Gatorade and Coke. Calories, salt, and the tiny dot. Run one mile and repeat.  

At mile 24.5, before I made my 3rd and final turn leading out of a McMansion Woodlands’ neighborhood, and on a descend to the Woodlands River Walk, Newland stood waiting. He yelled, “Kershner, if  you keep up this pace you will qualify for Boston!”

My stamina felt great. I increased my pace as I had the endurance to do it, but I really had to focus on using different muscles by shortening my stride with a shallow right leg recovery. My right hamstring locked twice several miles back which stopped me briefly in my tracks. The warning cramp in my right hamstring intensified, but my “<bleep> you’s” kept winning.

Only 1.5-miles to go! I ran by the drunk half-dressed crazies for the third and final time. Near the end of their cheering section a spectator walked and weaved across the sidewalk perfectly timing her meeting with me. As I made contact she was looking the opposite direction. I was shocked how easily she bounced off and into the crowd. The drunk crazies loved it and their cheering loudly increased, and faded into the past.  

Only 1 mile to go, and I couldn’t move! It was awful, because I looked to my left and there was the finish on the other side of the River Walk. I was so close, but my right hamstring finally locked, and all I could do was stand strait up and try to keep from falling backwards to the ground. 

I reached around with my right hand and jammed my fingers into the back of my right hamstring. It felt like a LaCrosse ball in the back of my leg. It took at least three minutes before the muscle released, and I began to walk with caution. I had to take a few steps and stop, and repeat until the process turned into a jog. At the next aid station I sucked down as many electrolytes as I could before my last push to the end.

My pace slowly picked back up without the debilitating cramp returning, which allowed a ton of enjoyment the last quarter of a mile on the run. I let the small tiny dot go, and began to really soak in the finish. Crossing that Ironman distant finish line was personally the most rewarding one compared to any others.

This was a day packed with many emotions from excitement to pain, to frustration and thought, to focus and busting through obstacles, to finally being overcome by joy.

Jimmy Valvano said it right in his speech at the 1993 ESPY’s, “Number one is laugh. You should laugh every day. Number two is think. You should spend some time in thought. Number three is, you should have your emotions moved to tears, could be happiness or joy. But think about it. If you laugh, you think, and you cry, that’s a full day. That’s a heck of a day.”

A couple weeks post Ironman Texas one of The Minions named Pearl wanted to show me her bike riding skills prior to watching our animated movie. She rode up a neighborhood hill with impressive power and back down several times before coming to a stop. She looked up at me and asked, “Uncle Casey, did you win your race?” 

I knew one of The Minions would ask it.  

-The End.

Personal Notes on Race Analysis

1:15 - Swim. Lined up in the wrong spot? I couldn’t keep swimmers off my legs the majority of this swim. Tons of bumping, and grabbing for position. I remember at the half-way turn-around how tired I felt from fighting off bodies. I remember the turn into the canal and passing under the first bridge and thinking this swim should be done. I had the endurance from my swim training. I believe I just burned a lot of matches from fighting off bodies for 2.4 miles. I never found a rhythm. 

4:29 - T1. Not great, but it was fine.

5:11 - Bike. Bonked at mile 90. Felt like it took 20-miles to shake the swim off my legs. Once we hit the freeway I could see my competition on the two loop course. I measured how many minutes I was behind by marking bridges they passed under. I estimated early in the race I was about 15 minutes behind most of the top guys. I let myself get out of my race and focused on others, which was my plan. I had nothing to lose after finishing 10 previous Ironman distant races, and coming as close to one spot away from Kona Qualifying. I figured if I bonked in this race at least I bonked trying. It was super humid first three hours. Winds shifted and cam from Northwest with 40 miles to go, gusting up to at least 30+ mph. The temps went from hot and humid to actually having a wind-chill on the bike. I nailed my nutrition better than any other race on my bike. Inside of quads seized at mile 90, and there was nothing I could do but stand. Triceps locked and then I had to sit. I rotated between standing and sitting from mile 90-112.

Lap 1: 30′, 150 avg hr, 206 avg np, 79 avg c, 22.5 avg mph

Lap 2: 30′, 153 avg hr, 215 avg np, 78 avg c, 23.2 avg mph

Lap 3: 30′, 153 avg hr, 212 avg np, 73 avg c, 23.0 avg mph

Lap 4: 30′, 151 avg hr, 211 avg np, 74 avg c, 22.5 avg mph

Lap 5: 30′, 151 avg hr, 211 avg np, 72 avg c, 21.8 mph

Lap 6: 30′, 150 avg hr, 207 avg np, 73 avg c, 22.8 mph

Lap 7: 30′, 149 avg hr, 204 avg np, 72 avg c, 23.2 mph

Lap 8: 30′, 147 avg hr, 196 avg np, 69 avg c, 20.2 mph (heading into bonk)

Lap 9: 30′, 146 avg hr, 179 avg np, 71 avg c, 17 mph (bonk)

Lap 10: 42′, 124 avg hr, 152, avg np, 70 avg c, 16.4 avg mph (quit)  

21:56 - T2. This was not the plan. 

3:18 - Run time. Topped best IM run time since my first one; a 3:23 in 2010 at Ironman Wisconsin. Finally shed that wait off my back.

Lap 1: 1:32, 142 avg hr, 7:18/mile pace. (I could have increased my hr closer to 150, but constantly ought off cramps t try and keep moving forward w/o my legs locking up).

Lap 2: 1:43, 139 avg hr, 7:50/mile pace (this includes miles 25 through 26.2 where I stood motionless for a while, recovered and pretty much jogged it into the finish).

10:11:32 my overall time. 33rd in ag. What’s crazy is I was 45′ from a KQ slot since it seems a lot of ringers showed up for this ‘North America Championship’. Honestly, my perfect race I would have been close to a 9:30, maybe a little faster, or maybe a little slower, but very close to a 9:30. Finishing, and overcoming, was a much better experience than having my perfect race and finishing several minutes away from a Kona Qualification. There’s a silver lining in everything. It’s all about perspective.

Why didn’t I have the race I planned? I conclude it comes down to little things adding up to a great day or a poor day.  There were a lot of little things in my prep for this race that exposed my weakness on the bike.

The little things

I only rode outside a couple times leading up to IMT. Knocking it out on my trainer using power is almost always better than riding outside. No stop lights, no traffic, never stop peddling, uninterrupted sets, safer, etc. But, I needed a couple more solid rides outside simply to train other muscles like balancing muscles to fight wind.

I didn’t have much acclamation to humidity leading up to this race. I took the hot baths, saunas, but not enough of them. Through most of the morning on race-day it was 90 + % humidity, and very warm.

I didn’t get in one open-water swim. I’m not big on needing many open water swims. If you can swim, well, you can swim! But, there is a benefit to getting in the open water, similar to riding outside enough to get your muscles used to the elements again.

My mental focus wasn’t at a passionate level it needed to be leading up to IMT. I nailed my training sessions, but it was more because I felt like I ‘had to’ instead of a motivational attitude of wanting to improve. My passion was inconsistent heading into this race. It is not possible to compete at a Top-10 ag level level in these IM Distant races w/o being absorbed with passionate every morning when the alarm buzzes. It’s thinking about everything and how it affects tomorrow’s training. It’s not just about nailing training, it’s also putting a high level of importance on recovery, eating, sleeping, and doing every little thing to have that physical and mental edge on race day. At the end of the day I lacked that passion which was exposed at mile 90 on the bike during this race. Why was I able to nail the run? It’s simple. The training was there to do it. And I found the passion and focus to compliment my deep endurance for the marathon.     

#Reds #Redstriteam #mamasimmons #bsc #triathlon #swim #bike #run #trisutto #brettsutton #bonk #nevergiveup #imtexas