Traumatized.

There I was,

just a girl with a dream

of going to the Tulip Festival

at Thanksgiving Point.

And every spring

came and went

and it never seemed to work out.

.

.

Then Kaitlin said,

"I'm running a half marathon.

You run it too!"

And I said,

"Cool. Yeah.

It's at Thanksgiving Point.

I'll see the tulips.

It will be beautiful."

.

.

Two and a half months later,

the day came.

It was supposed to rain,

but I said,

"It doesn't really rain in Utah.

It'll drizzle

and then be fine."

So I wore shorts.

At the starting line,

I saw everyone in ponchos

and thought,

"What's with those people?

We're not going to get wet."

.

.

By mile three,

I was soaked.

"It's fine,"

I thought.

"This is great."

.

.

Then the course wove

through the gardens.

Tulip time!

I was expecting

But it was like

That's basically all the tulips there were.

.

.

The rest of the race

was bitter death.

No,

it didn't stop raining

the. entire. time.

Eventually,

I hobbled through the finish line.

I got a medal.

I took a selfie.

Congratulations,

you lived through hell.

.

.

A week later,

I was riding the train to Salt Lake.

When we stopped at Lehi Station,

I looked out the window at Thanksgiving Point

and felt

intense

and

almost

inexplicable

bitterness.

Apparently,

that was a lot more traumatic

than I realized.

I may never be able

to look at a tulip again.