Our Sunday long run routed up and over and through until we made a quick change in direction and cut to a little known thru-trail in a residential area. At the bottom of the hill, setup right off the footpath, were two guys dolled up in red cocktail dresses and makeup, unloading three coolers of ice and Pabst beer from a truck. It was like the day couldn't have been a more perfect day, than this. Beaming, I laugh and call out through a maniac's grin, 'we've been looking everywhere for you!'
At this, the red-dress guys frown and look confused. They were expecting a group of runners in matching red dresses to come through, but we dropped in from the opposite direction, outfit in regular dirtbag attire plus mud-caked shoes and ankles. Little of this made sense to them at that moment. In contrast and in an apex of irony, their presence made clear and absolute sense to me along with my fading memories of life in Boulder in my 20's. The badassness of hitting an inadvertent beer stop during a long run ranks quite high. To be fair, it's most likely an act of God. I may have even said this out loud, in which one red-dress guy blinked slowly and indifferently in response. Then we remembered there was an incredible amount of beer sitting at our feet and we laughed and laughed. One celebratory PBR and several hi-fives later and we were clipping down the path again, stepping briefly to the side as an impressive fleet of on-coming runners feted in red dresses stormed right on by.