2018 Michigan Ragnar – Final (?) Leg

I am sorry that it has taken so long to get this last one written, but life happens.  This is the third post about my 2018 Ragnar Relay.  Read THIS and THIS to get caught up.

It’s 7:45 AM and I’m about to start my third, and final, leg.  This leg killed me last year.  My foot injury had flared up and pretty much broke me down.  It was a miserable leg and the final climb was torture.  Ever since I had found out that I was running the same legs as last year, I have had this one in mind.  It is a 6.6 mile leg.  Take note of that cliff at the end.  That’s a 220 foot gain over less than a mile.  That sucks. I am extra annoyed that is pretty light out but I still have to wear the stupid head-lamp per Ragnar rules.

My Everest

I decide that there is nothing left after this leg and so I am going to leave nothing in the tank.  I settle into a comfortable face.  A mile in, I notice my van is pulled off to the side. I panic. There is no way I am off course again! I’ve run this leg before. There are other runners by me and it is broad daylight.  There is no possible way, I screwed this up like I did during my second leg.  I’m relieved to find that they guys just wanted to get a few pictures and I haven’t blown it.

At least I’m on the correct course

After 5.5 miles, I have 11 kills banked, am cruising along and I know the climb is waiting.  I know that I am about to go downhill into a valley, over a river, and then start to climb.  As I start my downhill, I see the mountain looming as sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti.  This time, I can see a lot of people struggling up the hill. And they are all walking.  As I cross the river, several fisherman stop, point to the top and call out, “Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you!”

Everything is right this time, I am able to keep a steady pace.  No stopping this time, no matter what. No walking.  My legs are burning but I am able to add 10 kills to my body count on the hill. I finally finish the last climb, thank my Sherpa, toss off my oxygen mask and see one final guy struggling ahead of me.  Knowing, that I will be done after this, I ignore my screaming legs and sprint it in.  I fall about 3 steps short of getting my 22nd kill of the leg but am OK with it.  I’ve spent everything I have and am glad to be done. I am excited that Marty is able to get a few pics of me trying to track the last guy down.  I am more excited that I also knocked three full minutes off my time from last year. All that’s left now is to meet Van 2 for one more exchange and then my Van can wait at the finish line. My part is done.  I think.


At the van exchange point, a bald eagle circles above us and we find out that JD in Van 2 is done. JD’s had IT Band issues.  Somehow, he gutted out 2 legs totaling 12 miles but is a “no-go” for his final 3.5 mile leg. IT Band problems are extremely painful and I’m impressed that he logged 12 miles. After some discussion, and rule reviews, it’s determined that I am going to be the replacement runner and will pick up my fourth leg. I am plenty sore but the worst part of it is that everyone else in my van is done. While we drive to my next exchange point, they stop off and get good coffee and food.   Not protein bars and PBJ’s, but real food.  I have also been without coffee for about 27 hours now and the smell of their dark roasts is killing me.

Truth be told, my fourth leg ends up being pretty uneventful.  My legs definitely feel even the smaller climbs and make me regret my final sprint.  At the three mile mark, a runner is standing in the road. I stop to check on her and she begins to complain, “My husband told me this was a three mile leg. I don’t see no &*!** exchange point. I’m not running another step and am texting his ass to come get me.”  She has a lot more to say, but I do not wait around to hear it. I can only assume this is one of the teams that had a five hour head start on us.

I total eight more kills and think I may have a shot at number nine, but I just don’t have it in me to try to reel him in.  When I pass off the slap-bracelet for the last time, I truly know that I have nothing left.  My Ragnar is done and so am I.  I must admit to being proud of the fact that my fourth, unplanned, leg was run at about 6 seconds/mile faster than my very first leg.

Van 1 checks into our AirBnB and then heads to the finish line to meet Van 2 and our final runner.  We finish in a bit over 27 hours.  About a 30 minute improvement over our first try  Unfortunately, we will really have no idea of how we finished until tomorrow.  There are just too many teams stretched out over those 200ish miles to get a result until much later.

All eleven runners finishing together

I am extremely proud of our team. The experienced runners kept their times, or improved a bit, but I am most proud of the guys who had not been running for years.  They spent 2018 training their butts off.  They looked physically different than a year ago and shaved off giant chunks of time.  The training text-threads from all over the country, and the race itself, have been amazing.  Unfortunately, this year the finish line is freezing. We take our pictures, eat some quick food and decide to abandon the Ragnar after-party and go out on our own.

The well-oiled, disciplined machine that trained for a year, coordinated the race and completed it in under 28 hours suddenly is unable to coordinate anything beyond the first brewery stop.  Long wandering conversations eventually lead to an agreement to meet somewhere but only half the team ever makes it there.  People get confused about who is driving and who is walking. Some guys decide to make a couple stops on the way.  I have no idea what happens to a few of the guys, but I don’t see them again at all.  That kinda stuff happens and its actually pretty funny. Somehow, seven of the eleven sleep-deprived, exhausted guys end up at a final brewery and piece together the evening and the whereabouts of everyone.  After recounting our favorite parts of the race (mine was shaving over 30 seconds/mile off that stupid third leg) everyone makes it back safely.

Most of us made it.

The next morning, Van 1 starts the trek back home.  About forty minutes into the return trip we get a text from the Ragnar organizers.  We are getting gold batons this year!  We have finished first in the Master’s (over 40 but still sexy) division.  I believe we finished around 17th out of about 250ish overall.  I’m quietly relieved that my little detour on Leg 2 didn’t cost us anything.  That has been in the back of my head for a long time




Sometimes, I struggle to see the good things in life. I can get too focused on the ugliness of the world and the things, or people,  that I do not have.  The Ragnar weekend always forces me to see how blessed I am. I wrote about how blessed I am last year so I will not re-hash that, but I am extremely grateful that I can be included in a group of guys who can rally together to do a Ragnar relay over two decades after we left campus.  It amazes me.

There is one fact that reminds me how much I love the company of my Ragnar teammates and how, even after all these years, I know that I am with the right people.  No conflict. No drama. Just people I genuinely enjoy. When you consider the drive to the starting line, the race itself, and the drive home, I spent about 32 hours in a van with the four other Van 1 guys.  We never once turned on the radio.

2018 Michigan Ragnar – Leg 2

Continuing from https://theaccidentalselfie.com/2018/11/04/2018-michigan-ragnar-leg-1/

My sense of direction sucks. It’s embarrassing but it is what it is.  I was nervous about getting lost last year.  Most of the legs have multiple turns on back roads and I was not sure how well marked the course was so I would write the turns on my arm with a Sharpie.  As it turns out, Ragnar marks their course incredibly well. Even on the desolate, lonely legs things are pretty clear.  When you see a blue Ragnar sign with an arrow, you turn to where the arrow points.   Easy.  I’m also running the exact same legs as last year, so I’m fine. No Sharpies in 2018.

My leg is only 3.2 miles long and the last mile is all downhill.  I’ve set a goal of getting the last mile done in under six minutes.  It’s an easy course. Up and down a couple hills, turn right, go down a hill, turn left and done.  It’s a bit after 9:00PM so I have my reflective vest on, the mandatory blinker is flashing on my back and I turn my head lamp on.  I watch quite a few runners make the exchange ahead of me and try to figure out how many of them I can track down.  Marty tags me in and I get out fast.

I only have a quarter mile down when my van zips by to meet me at the exchange point.  Marty must have finished and jumped right into the van.  About 3/4 of a mile in, I reach the top of a hill, see the arrow pointing and take my right turn. I feel so much more fresh than I did at this turn last year.  As I look ahead I see no flashing lights ahead of me to run down. It’s so much easier chasing people down but this is going to be all about self-discipline as it may be a bit before I catch anyone. I take a deep breath and try to pick up speed.

Night Running

A quarter of a mile down, I see a vehicle approaching. There’s always traffic, but this vehicle is slowing down.  As I get closer I see it’s a van.  Obviously a Ragnar team’s van is stopping right beside me. I am not amused.  There are a lot of teams that play around a lot and have a good time.  I do not mind that, but when I’m racing, I do not want any of that.  If they are gonna blast an air horn at me, throw glitter at me or something equally as stupid, I am going to be seriously pissed off.   A door slides open and I see my teammates. Mark yells, “Turn Around!”  I stop and am baffled.  “Seriously!  You are off course. Turn around!” Quickly I find out that I have somehow made my turn too early. A quick debate reveals that none of us know if I’m allowed to get in the van to be driven back to where I went of course or if I have to run back. Rather than risk a DQ, I turn around and  run back.  I’ve added a half-mile to my run and probably cost my team four minutes.

As I get back on course I see the sign I followed was for “Overflow parking.” Fortunately, my van had made the exact same wrong turn!  If they had not made the wrong turn, I have no idea how far I would have run before realizing I was off course. Probably a mile, then figuring it out, then a mile back. Disaster.  Or, if I had been 60 seconds slower, I would have missed my van making their own correction. The window of time for my team to happen upon me was actually very small. Later, I  would find out that after they realized they had screwed up, they were hustling to make it back when they saw a headlamp approaching.  Someone said, “At least we aren’t the only team making this mistake. We gotta let this idiot know he’s off-course.”  They didn’t know it was me until they had stopped.

I spend the next three miles switching between freaking out about the time I cost and being grateful that my teammates had made the same mistake at almost the same time. Things could have been so much worse.  My pacing is all messed up as I try to make up time while managing my panic.  I know I only have one more leg after this and I try to burn everything I have. No sense in saving anything.  However, I am just too distracted to really bear down.  I do not even try to break six on the last mile.  Too much of a mess.  Truth be told, I can also feel Father Time creating extra weight on me.  It feels like the jerk is skeeching behind me with a parachute. I do manage five kills and I finish with a decent time. I’m actually pretty close to what I did last year. (https://theaccidentalselfie.com/2018/02/17/ragnar-relay-leg-2/)

After Moby finishes his leg, we drive ahead and try to steal some sleep while Van 2 takes over.  Basically, we are parked in a giant infield with tons of other vans trying to snag a bit of sleep between 11:30 PM and 3:00 A.M.  As a recovered insomniac, sleep and I do not always get along.  Curled up in a borrowed sleeping bag, in a bucket seat in a min-van, in a lit-up infield is not exactly in my sleep wheelhouse.

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Trying to get some sleep

To make matters worse, Mark and I both start sniffling and coughing within thirty minutes.  Truth be told, all Ragnarians become raging hypochondriacs in the weeks leading up to the race.  In addition to worrying about wasting your training, the fact is that if you really get sick, the team is highly unlikely to be able to find a replacement runner who is free for that weekend, is in good enough shape to compete, and is dumb enough to want to participate.  The last month before the race was a torrent of texts from everyone freaking out about every sniffle. As a school employee I lamented working in the germ warfare research facilities that are public education while the doctors on the team sent texts such as “My sick patient coughed into my mouth!  I’m screwed!” And now Mark and I are hacking away after our second leg.  While we lament our crappy luck, Mark eventually says, “Hey, you borrowed that sleeping bag from Ryan.  Does he own cats?”  Sure enough, I notice that I am trying to sleep in cat fur. Obviously Mark and I are both allergic.  The sleeping bag gets buried, we are miraculously healed and Mark falls asleep.

The rest of my night of night is pretty much tossing and turning.  I get 10-15 minutes of sleep, but I expected that and can deal with it. I track Van 2’s runners and have quick conversations with whoever wakes up for a bit.  I realize I have not heard much from Moby in the back seat. I turn around to see how he is doing.  Moby is in a yoga pose wearing only underwear and a bandanna. It’s 2:00 A.M.  It’s 40 degrees. I am not surprised at all.  Sometimes you do not ask questions.

Van 2 starts texting that we need to get ready.  Craig starts our last series of legs somewhere between 3:30 and 4:00 A.M.  I only have a 6.6 mile leg with a monster hill ahead of me and I’ll be done.  Some of the exchange points are cold.  The wind whipping at some of the beach exchange points is particularly brutal.  I am not loving that blowing sand is giving my PBJ and rather unsatisfying crunch.

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Starting last series of legs

Still, I am having a blast.  I have not seen some of these guys since Ragnar 2017. Before that, it had been 20 years since I had last seen some of them. It has not been uncomfortable at all.

Dawn is just breaking as I stand in the starting chute for my last Ragnar leg.  It’s cold but at least the sun is rising.  I do not need the stupid headlamp at all, but Ragnar rules say I have to have one on until a certain time and, let’s be honest, I’m a rule follower.  For the last time, Marty tags me in and I start my last leg.  This is the leg I have been waiting for and I feel like I have something to prove on this one.

I’ll write that up later

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2018 Michigan Ragnar Leg 1

When you complete a high-intensity race that you have trained months for, you find yourself wanting to talk about it for months.  Unfortunately, most people are only willing to listen to a few minutes and you can not really blame them.  I have a blog, so I can just put everything up here instead of making my wife suffer through yet another Ragnar story.

Once again, my team of 11 former fraternity brothers committed to run the Michigan Ragnar Relay.  In short, it is a 200ish mile relay race from Muskegon, MI to Traverse City, MI that will take about 27-29 hours for us to finish. Each person will run 3-4 legs totaling 13-24 miles each.  The guys in my Van will run legs 1-6 before Van 2 runs the next six legs and the vans will continue to rotate until the 36 legs are complete. Last year we were under-prepared, a weird combo of experienced runners and guys who just started running, and had not idea what to expect.  Somehow, we ended up finishing 13th out of 240ish teams and 3rd in the Masters Division. This year, people have committed to training and we know what to expect.  CLICK THIS to read about last year and learn more about the race.

As I drive to meet my team, I reflect on how much better trained I am. Last year, I was dealing with an injury and recovering from a nasty virus that practically eliminated my training.  This year I am more prepared. Well, maybe prepared isn’t the word I am looking for because 45 minutes into my drive to meet my teammates I realize that I left my sleeping bag at home. I make panicked phone calls to the guys who live closer to our rally point. Fortunately, I catch Ryan before he leaves and he throws in an extra sleeping bag for me.

After the team meets up, my van goes to the start line and the Van 2 guys go to kill some time before driving to the exchange point after Leg 6.  Last year, we started in the last wave at noon.  It took us almost ten hours of lonely running before we started catching teams. This year, we get a 10:30 start and will be around more teams much earlier.

start line
Van 1 Runners at Start Line

Van 1 is going to run the exact same legs as last year.  The only difference is that Ryan changed to Van 2 and Moby joined us.  I have known Moby for years and am fine with the swap.  He will be fun. Unfortunately, I am wrong and Moby shatters the peace at Exchange #1.  Blood is spilled.  Sitting in the back of the van, Moby blatantly states the filled donuts are absolutely disgusting and makes gagging noises. I vault over the seats and begin to give Moby the worst beating he has had since college.  Fortunately, Mark and Marty are able to drag me off of him before I turn him into a puddle of jelly-filling.  I have known Moby for over 20 years and had no idea that I was friends with an Anti-Donite.

Starting the 5th Leg

Order is finally restored and I get ready to run Leg 5 which is a relatively flat 6.0 miles. Marty tags me in and has set me up for an easy kill.  You record a “kill” when you pass a team.  Marty reeled a team in and I am able to get my first kill in only about 50M.  The first five miles of my run are pretty uneventful.  Last year I was so nervous about my health, what Ragnar was going to be like, and my injury that I barely remember this leg.  At best, this leg is vaguely familiar.   What I do remember learning is that Ragnar is not quite as physically grueling as one would expect.  I will get about 7-8 hours of rest before my next leg and with only 3 legs to run, there is not much point in holding back, so I push it.

With about a mile left I have set a pretty fast pace and am paying for it. I have four kills and there is one more in my sight. She has a pretty good lead and keeps glancing back at me.  She knows I am hunting and does not want to tell her teammates that she got killed. She is not fading as fast as I had hoped and I really have to push. The last half-mile is just enough uphill to hurt. When reaches it, she give me one last glance, smiles and starts to sprint the hill. My lungs are burning but I finally kill her at the top of the hill with about 50M left and sprint it in just to make sure.

As I tag Moby in, I feel my stomach rolling from that last mile and duck into the bushes to donate my lunch back to the land.  Mark quickly snaps the picture below and sends out a group text stating, “It’s like we are back in college!”  I hate my friends.  After I recover, the woman I was chasing walks by and says, “At least I made you work for that kill.”  I reply, “You made me puke for it.”  She yells “Yes!” pumps her fist and high-fives me. Runners are weird.


Ultimately, I shaved 33 seconds off of what I ran this leg in last year. It is not a ton, but let’s be honest.  Once you turn fortsexty years old, any time you do not get slower is a win.

Van 1 drives to the van exchange point to meet Moby and tag in the Van 2 runners.  Most of the exchange points are in parking lots, parks, or overlooks but the Van Exchanges (every 6th leg) are bigger, have music, vendors and a lot more life.  Last year when we hit the first van exchange point we were one of the last ten teams to arrive. Nobody was there and the volunteers were breaking everything down.  With the earlier start time, there are actually a ton of people there and everyone is having a good time.  Marty is mostly excited that we are actually seeing hand-sanitizer in the Porta-Potties.  When you start in the last wave and spend hours trying to catch 240 teams of twelve runners, you encounter a lot of Portas that are in dire need of attention.  Not the case this year.

Perhaps the biggest difference comes as Moby finishes for Van 1.  Last year, the volunteers were tearing things down and it was empty.  This year, the DJ calls out, “Team 141’s runner is coming in and this guy is flying!” After Moby finishes, the DJ yells at me, “Hey, what wave did you start in?”  When I tell him that we started at 10:30, he gets back on the microphone and announces, “Keep an eye out for these guys! Check their finish tomorrow!  They are fast.”  Yup…last year was fun but things are going so much better this year.  We still have about 170ish miles and probably 22-24 hours of racing left, but it is a good start.

Image may contain: sky and outdoor

Image may contain: one or more people, people standing, sky and outdoorCheck back later to read about Van 1’s second set of legs. Teaser.. it involves night running, a potentially major error and 2:00 AM yoga.


Every  night the dragon came and every night Keri fought it.  At first, it was a minor nuisance.  A small little lizard that appeared at sunset, scratched at her window and was easily chased away.  But in the past months, it had grown. Not only was the dragon larger and more fierce, but it was fighting longer and longer. Still, it was always beaten back by sunrise.

Keri continued to deliver wood to the villagers. A few of them whispered of seeing strange lights and noises coming from Keri’s land at night, but few thought much of it. Keri continued to bring wood and what business of theirs was it? After all, nobody really believed in dragons.

The monster continued to grow and Keri’s battles now stretched throughout the night.  While once, she had been simply able to chase the dragon away, she now spent the evenings fending off its attacks.  She no longer troubled herself with trying to beat the dragon back but simply tried to survive until the dragon grew bored and fled.  Worse yet, the dragon now brazenly stayed until the first rays of sun stretched over Keri’s land.

Keri began having difficulty making her deliveries on time. Most of the villagers quickly forgave her, but whispers began.  Some wondered why Keri continued to wear long tunics in the heat, but others caught glimpses of the bruises or the long, bloody claw marks that ran the length of Keri’s arms from where the dragon had raked her.  While Keri’s deliveries had once been a source of peace, she now caught glimpses of the dragon stalking her.  Even during the day.  A tail disappearing beneath the underbrush beside the road.  A curl of smoke coming from behind a pile of rock.  Always there. Always waiting for sunset.

At the town festival, a battered Keri was approached by the Men in Orange.  Her head swam from her drink, but she eventually told them that she was fighting a dragon. To  her surprise, they did not mock her. They believed her. They slammed their steins on the table and swore their allegiance. The Men in Orange told her to light a signal fire when the dragon next attacked. They would come riding and together they would kill the dragon.

For weeks, Keri lit a fire every night that the dragon arrived.  As the dragon pummeled her, she stared down the road desperately searching for a sign of orange. It never came and she stopped lighting fires. Occasionally, a neighbor would wander by and throw rocks at the dragon, but it had grown far too powerful to be repelled by stones.  Finally, at dawn, the dragon pinned her to the ground. The morning sun hit its face and it was unfazed. It leaned forward and hissed into Keri’s ear, “This is the last time I leave. You will never be rid of me” and flew off.

Keri delivered wood and feared the coming night.  She did not know if the dragon’s threat was a promise to torment her forever or if it intended to carry her away.  Her last stop was a reclusive old man. He noticed Keri’s bruises and told her that he had seen the dragon following Keri. He pitied her and produced a sword that he claimed had killed dragons for generations.  Keri skeptically took it and and returned home.

That night, the dragon came and Keri killed it. There was no battle. The dragon approached and the sword easily pierced its scales.  Keri looked at the dead dragon in disbelief. Its body began to shrivel and shrink before her. She quickly cut off its head and hid it away.

Every night, Keri slept beside her sword but no dragons came.  With the dragon gone, smaller monsters that troubled all of the villagers began to occasionally approach Keri’s land. Goblins, spiders, and trolls were quickly disposed of. What chance do they stand against a sword that kills dragons? Eventually, even they stayed away from Keri and nothing bothered her.

A year later, Keri no longer slept by her sword and had it safely hidden underneath her floor boards.  The village prepared for its annual festival.  As the people danced in the commons, Keri rode into town and mounted the dragon’s head on a stake in the village square. The crowd momentarily hushed before everyone began talking at once. The children ran to the head in order to see a monster.  Some sat in silent disbelief as they had never believed in dragons.  Others murmured that they had thought they had seen dragons around.  Neighbors apologized for not having better weapons than stones. The Men in Orange swung their swords in the air and roared that they would stand beside anyone to kill dragons if they would only light a signal fire.  Some claimed to have killed dragons themselves.

The festival wore on for days and the dragon became less of an oddity. Merchants traded goods.  People gamed. The Men in Orange filled their cups and danced.  Someone produced a chicken with two heads. Children flocked to see a dancing bear.  Keri removed the dragon’s head and threw it in the lake.

Keri lives quietly on her land now.  She delivers wood to the village. Time has passed and she barely remembers the dragon.  Occasionally, she is startled from her sleep by a scratching noise at her window but it is always a branch from a tree.  A shadow falling over her causes her to flinch but she knows the shadow is only a hawk and not dragon wings. Still, she watches.

The village exists. Its wheels turn. They still gather every day to work, talk, and play before returning to their own lands and whatever waits for them there.  Keri believes there may still be dragons out there but does not believe they will bother her again.   She delivers her wood with a smile and confidently walks through her lands unarmed.

Friendship Deflation

There is little in my life that I value more than friendships. I do my best to treat my friends in a manner that lets them know how much I value them and try to make sure I put my friends first. If I am your friend, there is little that I will not do for you. I have no problem prioritizing you and will gladly inconvenience myself for you. I am not trying to brag, but I think people who know me would vouch for this.

It gets me in trouble sometimes. Life moves and friendships naturally fade and sometimes just run their course. I have a very hard time accepting this and often let it bother me too much. At it’s heart, I think the issue is that I place friendships at such a high value.

This is why I am so pained to see how the value of friendship has been so deflated in the past week. Fair warning. Some of you may want to stop reading here. There will be no editing. No re-phrasing or re-wording. No editing for structure. I’m typing, saving, and publishing whatever I write next.

It is killing me to see so many friendships ended over the election.  Personally, I have lost not a single friend.  My candidate is not in office. I am scared and disappointed. Most of my friends voted along my lines, so I am not in direct conflict with them.

However, I see the hate that is thrown all over my social media feeds and conversations. I hear the horrible generalizations that are made about people who voted differently. Regardless of whether or not they are true, they are terrible things to be throwing at people who you have had personal relationships with.  Friendships are ending. And a lot of it is coming from people with whom I agree. I agree with them politically. I am as dumbfounded as they are and understand most of the angry memes, cartoons, and rants but can not get behind destroying friendships.

What is worse than the pain I feel for my country is the pain I feel when I realize, “If I had filled in a different bubble, I would have lost friends.”  Years of friendship, good times, bad times, conversations, tears, sacrifice and comfort would have been lost based on a vote.  To me, it’s not worth it. My grieving after this election has not been about the result but for the realization that the value of many of my relationships is much lower than I realized. It kills me to see a friend destroying another friend and realizing, “All I would have had to do is vote differently and that would have been me.” That’s it. Done. All that work and effort into cultivation a relationship… gone.

When you fight fire with fire, everyone burns.

I do not want to talk about the election anymore because all I can think about is how many friendships it has destroyed.  In four years this will change, but right now I can not even imagine myself voting in the next election. Not because of political apathy, disrespect for my rights, or a feeling a helplessness but more so because it feels like that tiny little ink bubble is a poison pill to something that I value above almost everything. Friendship.

I have lost not a single friend because of this election but I realize that is largely because I happen to vote in a manner that did not upset my friends. That literally depresses me.  Please do not politicize this. Please do not use it to support a view you may have. Please do not interpret this a political apathy. Do not take this a plea to simply move on. I am not asking anyone to ignore what is happening  Interpret this as the ramblings of a sad man who is watching friendships end and realizing they could easily be his.

Interpret as a plea for everyone to stop being such dicks.  If you are spewing hate because you feel empowered by the results. Stop being such a dick. If you are running around insulting your friends and making horrible generalizations about them because of their votes. Stop being such a dick.

To my friends. I love you.  I have always known about your political opinions and I have chosen to love you because of, or in spite of, them. I have yet to look at a friend and say, “I am surprised you voted that way.” My time with you and my relationship with you is way more important than what you did last week.  I refuse to hate you or lose you. I place way too much of a value on friendship but am deeply saddened that so many feel differently.

I am sorry if I have offended anyone. I am sorry if I have thrown a log on someone’s fire of furthered their point. I apologize if this is rambling, incoherent, poorly written and filled with typos. I am not going even re-read what is above. I am sorry if I am flat out wrong.

Do what you need to tomorrow. Call politicians. Be active. Fill my Facebook feed with articles.  I probably agree with most of them.  However, make sure you are stopping to love your friends. Don’t let your fervor burn relationships that have been so carefully built.  Don’t deflate the value of friendship. Just love.  Please?