Terrible with Raisins

"This wasn't just plain terrible, this was fancy terrible.

This was terrible with raisins in it."

— Dorothy Parker

I'm having a bad week. One of those weeks when you just want to stay under the covers. I'm in a funk over some things and it has made it hard to train. I skipped running 2 days this week without a good reason which I *never* do. Perhaps more surprising, I had Oreos for breakfast one morning. I dare say it has been a crazy long time since anyone has seen me eat an Oreo (clearly, break cookies apart, eat one cookie, eat filling, eat second cookie).

It's funny how your life outside of running has a big impact on your miles every week. When you run, there's a lot of time to think and I usually enjoy sorting things out on the road. I have a lot on my mind right now and the miles might have done me some good, but I was tired of thinking this week. For the first time in a long time, I just didn't want to run ... and I didn't. It happens. I guess the important thing is what you do next. Sometimes, despite how you're feeling, it comes time to lace up, let go and just get back out there. Oddly, you *can* run when you'd rather be doing other things. Just ask me and my six miles this morning.

Exception to the blah week was the Belmont concert last night. Cold beer with friends + great live music + killer view = good times.

The Road Tonight

On Saturday, I ran 15 miles in the crazy heat. These days, I'm actually not sure if the heat is crazy or if I am. I do not like the days when I have to wring the sweat out of my skirt. That's not sexy. It was even too hot to think of my favorite part of the running program --- breakfast. I couldn't finish my bacon, egg and cheese tacos. This is a new low.

Bright spot in the weekend was Hayes Carll. His show was great and nearly made me forget that I had gotten up at 4:40.

Next week is our final day at the track (yay!) and we only have to run 10 miles on Saturday. Things are looking up.

Tread

Today, I went back for a visit to Tread (I knew Brandon missed all of my complaining). These people are hard core. During class, someone fell off a bench while we were doing some miserable hopping exercise. I kid you not - no one even stopped working out. The front desk person came into class, gave the girl some ice and carried her out. If the Tread junkies ever meet the ATP addicts, I think there could be a threat of world domination.

I keep re-reading the schedule for this Saturday. It seems that I am supposed to run 15 miles, but that must be a misprint, right? Someone asked me after the run last Saturday why we do this. Reading that schedule, I can't think of a single reason. Not even one.

The Napa 12

I spent the holiday weekend with friends in Napa. I ran almost every day. I made Luke run with me early one morning before we went out to drink too much wine.

The weather was perfect at 7:00 a.m. and the views were stunning. Not a bad way to start the day. We passed the main part of St. Helena before mile 2.

There weren't any convenience stores along our route, but we managed to fill up our water bottles along the way. I'm not sure how we found the only sketchy locations in Napa. First, there was a motel where I can only assume convicted murders stay when touring wine country. Booze bottles were lined up outside the doorways to each room and the management office was mysteriously empty. Luke, naturally, let me poke around by myself while he stayed safely outside. Water stop #2 was a fire station with no firefighters around. Luke tested the water from the outside hose. "Tastes like old rubber," he said. Yuck. Finally, we found an deserted strip mall with a water fountain.

I was only planning on going 10 miles. Luke was feeling good around mile 5 and suggested we go down the road a little before turning around. Famous last words. Before it was all over, I'd beat 12 long miles out of him. I'm pretty sure he wanted to kill me for at least the last 3 miles. "Come on! You can do it," I would shout over my shoulder. I could feel the death glare through the back of my head. At minimum, he wanted to kick me ... and he might have done it --- if only he could have caught me :).