I hope not because you should know that I don't have a life, friends, a husband (well, med school just has most of him), a hobby, children, etc.
What do I have?
My cats. But they hate me, so they don't really count.
TV. There is always TV.
And running.
Yep. That about sums it up.
I still don't like running, but the act of going for a run has gotten easier. I even want to run most of the time. One mile in and I would swear on W's life that I actually never ever wanted to run in the first place and will never ever run again from that point forward.
But I would be lying.
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Let's talk about this sudden transformation from running-hater to running-tolerator.
Last Thursday was a busy day. I have two parties at work this week, so I was scrambling all last week weeding the gardens, washing china and crystal, taking reservations, etc. I was also trying to get everything squared away so that I could leave at noon on Friday to go out of town for a wedding. I didn't end up leaving work on Thursday until 4:30, which put me walking into the apartment at 4:45. I had a Junior League fundraiser that night at 6 and I had to be there at 6 sharp.
Well, I got home and decided that I needed to go for a run. In fact, I needed--no, wait for it--wanted to do 3 miles.
Who am I????
This meant that I would have to run, cool down, shower, make myself presentable and be out the door by 5:55.
THIS WOULD HAVE BEEN THE PERFECT DAY TO SKIP RUNNING.
What has happened to me?!?!
Before, I would have been rejoicing for such a perfect excuse to not run.
But, nooooooo. This new B wants to run.
I was pumped. I was feeling good. I ran.
And, it sucked. It sucked so bad.
My legs felt like lead pipes. My shins were throbbing. Compartment syndrome crossed my mind as tingles ran up the fronts of my legs threatening to rip open the skin.
I was sputtering. I was limping. I was grunting, dragging my left foot behind me.
But, I was still running, or at least attempting the motions. I was determined to maintain the high that got me out there in the first place.
It didn't work.
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After the first mile, I thought I would just quit. I rationalized with myself that I didn't really have time to run 3 miles, cool down, shower and get to the fundraiser by 6. I was crazy to think I could manage it. I should just stop now.
But, I didn't. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to finish.
I, too, no longer know myself, apparently. I think I was abducted by aliens or brainwashed or SOMETHING. There is no explanation.
Anyways, I didn't quit. I kept going. Sure, it wasn't my best time, but I finished without dying or worse, stopping.
(Sidenote: Why is it that on those days when you are most pumped to run, you SUCK the worst of your entire life? I blame Newton and his damn laws.)
And then I barely made it to the fundraiser on time, but I was showered and dressed!
Sure, I was sweating clear through my dress and cardigan. Yeah, I was gulping mini bottles of water as everyone else around me sipped their Chardonnays. And I was definitely in the corner dabbing tinted moisturizer on my cheeks to cover the purple-lobster-face-running-induced splotches that plague me. BUT, I was there. AND, I had not made an excellent excuse not to run.
It was a proud moment.
Skip to Monday afternoon--TRAINING DAY ONE.
A day that will now forever live in infamy as THE DAY I TOLD THE WORLD I WOULD START TRAINING AND I DIDN'T. I didn't even run. I didn't even walk.
I am disgusted with myself.
Again, aren't you all just so impressed by my level of commitment to absolutely nothing (except W.. and reality TV)??
I had every intention of running, y'all. Swear. But it was raining. No, pouring. Sure, on my drive home, I passed a few (real) runners, jogging it out on the path, drenched, hair plastered to their skulls, shirts attached to them like shrink wrap, shoes squelching from the flood. I admired them. I thought that maybe I was one of them. Heck, I planned to join them in about ten minutes. High fives were definitely in order. I was a runner, gee dee it.
What I am is a big chicken. I got home. Quickly donned my running gear. Tied my shoes. Put on my IPod arm thingy. Zipped up my rain jacket. Descended the steps. Took one look out the door and slowly turned and made my way back up the stairs. Unzipped my jacket. Took off my IPod arm thingy. And vacuumed the whole apartment.
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That counts as cardio, right?
Of course, by 8pm, mid-dinner, the sun was out and the earth was smiling. Argh.
Mother Nature! I recycle! Cut me some slack!
So, I didn't run on Monday. And on Tuesday, I worked a dinner party that I had planned, washed dishes, crystal and silverware for, set the tables and chairs for, weeded the garden and pulled all 150 dead tulips for, cleaned the museum and bathrooms for, bartended, semi-waitressed, attended, and then led tours of the museum at the end. That took about 14 hours.
I planned to skip out at about 3pm, mid setup, for a quick 3 mile jaunt to begin my training. Well, at 3pm, I, being the only employee and sole party planner, giver and one of the 18 attendees, was elbows deep in toilets and lemon/lime slicing and silver polishing. No run for B.
I got home at 10pm and was dead-tired.
But I told the Internet I would start training this week!!!!
I decided I would start training on Wednesday.
WRONG. I slept through three alarms, rushed to get ready. I had another event to manage and attend--a meeting and luncheon. I spent most of the morning attempting to get 3 laptops connected to the internet--unsuccessfully--while also fielding the meeting attendees and checking the reservation list, collecting checks, pointing out the bathrooms, etc. Let's not talk about how the venue crammed us all into a back room that they had forgotten to tell us about that was blazing hot, adding to the already boiling tempers.
Did I mention that W is in his general surgery rotation now, so has been getting up at 4:15am? Did I mention that I am not sleeping very well because of this?
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I was so tired and could only think about the mountains of dishes and crystal and silverware from the previous evening's dinner party that were just waiting to be washed.
The meeting and luncheon finally ended but not before it was interrupted THREE times by this poor woman who had to go through our meeting room to get to the handicap bathroom. I felt so bad for her as she was horrified. But what was she to do? Of course, none of us were upset with her but that paired with the jigglier than jello quiche and iceberg--GASP--lettuce that we were served for lunch and the last minute room switch and the LIMITED internet access that really meant NO internet access was enough to put us all over the edge.
I just wanted to go home and curl up with one or two cats and watch reruns of House Hunters International. But I didn't. I couldn't. I had stemware to wash. Which I did. Then, I went home and crashed until W came home and whisked my poor tummy off to its weakness: pizza.
So, I ate it and am currently suffering, but it was delicious and worth it.
Today, the museum is being rented for a fundraiser, which is less work for me--once I finish drying all of the washed dishes and silverware--but it means that I am here for another 14 hour day.
Cue violin.
My fingers are prunes and my running shoes are so very empty.
TOMORROW. I will run tomorrow!
NEXT WEEK. I will start my training next week!
Did I mention I turn 26 on Sunday? I kind of like having weeks like this before one that promises to be so special! I wonder what W has planned?!
-b
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