“Babe, you need to stand still,” I tell her as she wriggles with impatience. We’re standing in our hotel room in Delaware, getting ready to walk over to the start line of the half marathon along the beach.
“It’s hard to stand still when my boyfriend is about to stab me with f*****g safety pins,” she growls, wriggling again and snatching them from my hand. “I’ll do it myself.”
“Suit yourself,” I say, shaking my head and getting to work pinning my own race bib over my Pittsburgh Marathon Relay shirt. I assured Nicole that it’s a newbie move to wear the shirt for the actual race while competing in that race.
She wanted us to wear our matching Pittsburgh shirts, which I told her was totally fine since we ran that race last month. Beltane smoked Stag Law, of course. All of us are marathon
