My best friend runs very fast. For example, her marathon personal record is 2:55:15. Qualifying time for the Olympic Marathon Trials is 2:48:00, IIRC. My nickname for her is FBA, which stands for F*cking Badass.
I started calling her an FBA back in 1999 and two years ago at Grandma’s Marathon, the term was cemented. She had been trying to break 3 hours in the marathon for quite a while… Her sisters and I waited for her to run by, just over a mile from the finish. When she showed up, I looked at my watch and was just sure she had it. I was so excited that I jumped onto the course and screamed “You’re a f*ckin’ badass!” right into her face.
I miscalculated. 3:03:03 was her time; and I scared the crap out of her, apparently.
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I can’t help it, I’m her biggest fan.
Anyway, on to my FBA qualifications. I’ve done some races and my friend has declared my f*ckin’ badassness many times. She’s very sweet and gives me much more credit than I deserve. But after this weekend’s run, I felt like a just might be a badass.
Last night, one of my toenails fell out.
It’s official. I’m a f*ckin’ badass. w00t!
