Eating Marty.

I spent nearly 8 hours in the woods with some of my best friends on Saturday. Needless to say, we had a lot of time on our hands. The epic 32-mile trail run was a success, but more than that, so were the shenanigans that happen when you put the whole lot of us on a trail together for an extended period of time. Really, you have two options. You can continue in your uniform line on the single-track trails, keeping your endless thoughts to yourself, or you can decide which of you to sacrifice in an emergency situation. It was decided on Saturday that we'd eat Marty.

Marty was our "Spirit Guide" on Saturday. He mapped out 32 miles of Kettle Moraine trail, including perfectly plotted locations to leave our cars to serve as aid stations throughout the day. He carried maps in his pocket, as well as his iPhone, in case we needed GPS.

Rochelle, Tracey, John and I were mostly useless. Not only did we -- ladies, especially -- have NO idea where we were on Earth, nonetheless in the woods, we also had no idea where, exactly, our cars were, since we just followed Marty's direction and left them exactly where he said. He was, literally, the only one who knew where we were all day, and how to get out. That's a lot of pressure. So, naturally, we'd have to eat him if he died. Makes... perfect sense?

This was all actually quite funny, but funnier yet was how much thought we actually put into this plan, should it come to Worst Case Scenario.

At first we thought, "Well, no. Marty CAN'T die out here on these trails. If he dies, we'll be lost out here forever. Someone else has to die in his place." Turns out no one else was really jumping at that alternative.

Let's back up a second. We're in the middle of Kettle Moraine in Eagle, Wis. Other than wayward piles of horseshit on the horse trails and the occasional fallen tree on the trails, there really wasn't much out there that was going to kill us. BUT ONE MUST ALWAYS BE PREPARED.

With that said, we were within earshot of a shooting range half the day, but we all prepared for that by wearing bright, bright colors. I'M WEARING A HOT PINK SHIRT, YOU CAN'T SHOOT ME. But you never know about those shooter types.

So, back to eating Marty. We all came to terms with the fact that Marty must be the one to die, and we must eat him to survive or we'd never get out of Kettle Moraine alive.

(No, I don't know why Marty had to die, but this was our plan, so just go with it. Eight hours is a long time in the woods.)

Marty was relatively calm about this plan. Mostly because Marty's used to this kind of shit from the group of women (ahem, us) he's forced to run with for hours on end. He hears us gripe about boobs and the catty bullshit women like to gripe about, and we know he puts Body Glide on his balls. It just is what it is. Accept and move on.

So our plan was this: Marty dies. We eat him. Survive off the meat on his bones and the water we've been carrying on our backs. We set up camp, start a new life in the woods. Maybe a band. It was all going to work out there in the woods of Eagle, Wis.

But then, about 14 miles into our journey, a wicked thunderstorm swept through. Thunder, lightning, rain. THIS WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN. WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE! We decided on the only thing we could do in such a dire situation. We'd leave notes on our bodies to let passersby know it was OK to eat our bodies. If they had to, of course. We're a giving group.

In the end, you'll be pleased to know no one died. Nobody had to be sacrificed and no one had to eat anyone else. But we're well-prepared for the future, should we find ourselves in a predicament in the woods. Even Rochelle, the vegetarian, has come to terms with our life-saving plan.

"I will never stop being a vegetarian," she said, matter-of-factly. "Unless I have to eat Marty."

I'm glad everyone is on the same page.