Boy Talk

Last week, I saw Girl Talk at the Granada. So. Damn. Fun. I also had the pleasure of breakfast on Saturday with Luke, Tim and Craig where we spent a little too much time talking about ... um ... chaffing (ew). It was nice to have everyone back at the Taco Joint.

Tomorrow, I'm going to my first middle of the week ATP group run. I've been swamped at work and slightly scared of another foot injury, but I'm going to try to be brave in the morning. Plus = the group is meeting at Germany Park (which is right by my house). Minus = we're doing track work (where I injured my foot last year). I'm all about facing my fears, but next time, I'm choosing a fear that doesn't involve my alarm going off before 5:00 a.m.

Flight to San Fran tomorrow for a holiday Napa adventure. What's the over/under on me rallying the gang for a 10 mile run on Saturday? Talk about testing my "cruise director" status...

Hazy Days of Summer

Yesterday, I ran 12 miles. It wasn't too bad ---- all things considered.

I stayed up late on Friday eating dinner at the Mansion (hello, fancy pants). Believe me when I tell you that I would have paid a million dollars to sleep even 10 more minutes when the alarm went off at 4:40. So. Very. Sleepy. Saturday morning runs are a hard-to-explain combination of mind tricks, willpower, delirium and fatigue.

I ran with ATP again (clearly, I am insane). 2 miles, skipping warm up, 4 miles easy, 4 miles marathon pace and 2 miles of cool down (Winstead, Abrams --- hello, again). Last year, I just ignored all the pacing directives. This year, I'm trying to follow the program. I figured that it would probably do wonders to use the coaching that Maggie gives me instead of choosing to selectively hear things (like I do with most folks).

Next week, we're running at Norbuck Park because there's an event at White Rock. I'm not going to mention the hellish hills that await us to Luke and Craig. What a fun Saturday morning surprise that will be.

GO MAVS!

Okay - I'll admit that the Mavs don't have anything to do with my running, but COME ON, did you see them on Sunday night? Suck it, Heat.

Saturday, I got up at 4:40. I could have skipped because Luke, Craig and Tim were all out of town. Instead, I stumbled out of bed, ran 8 miles and had ate breakfast tacos solo before most people's alarm went off for the day.

Next week is 12. Are we already at our base for the summer? Going off the lake (anything over 9.3) makes it real. 12 isn't that bad, but it isn't that far from 15 or 17 or 21 either. People, it is practically the 4th of July already and before you know it, college football will be here and then, you blink and it is Halloween and two seconds later, I'm going to be 50. Wait, that last part got out of hand, but I think you get the idea.

Tomorrow morning is only 4 miles which means I can drink at least one more glass of wine before saying goodbye (and I won't miss you) to Monday.

Siren Song

I worked on Friday night until 10:30 and finished my documents just in time to get into bed in anticipation of my early morning run. Yeah, that's right, I lead a charmed life.

At the lake on Saturday, I bumped into Maggie and the ATP crew before the groups started. They cornered me about how I should run with ATP even if I didn't go the entire 10 miles (I didn't). I told them it was too much. I explained that I didn't want to be out done every week by a group of super-humans. It was enough that I was running a marathon, wasn't it? And then the ATP lies began...

"You won't be the slowest"

"Think how much stronger you'll be."

"This is your year!"

I absolutely told them in no uncertain terms that I couldn't ... but then, of course ... I did. Oh sure, I had the same amount of enthusiasm for the skipping warm up and the hip circles as I always do, but I still did them. Totally caved. Where was that trademark stubbornness when I needed it?

My reward this weekend was opening the pool on Bryn Mawr and swimming with the sweetest puppy that ever lived. I wish I had half of the enthusiasm for running that she had for belly-flopping in the water in pursuit of a tennis ball.