- My marathon training has been pretty derailed the last week+. I was running on old shoes (bad!) that led to shin splints (bad-der!). I took a week or so off to heal those up, in addition to getting a new pair of shoes – Karhus. Unfortunately, after a couple of runs on the Karhus, I realized that they weren’t fitting right. Feet going numb, low ankle that rubbed awkwardly. Annoying. I took them back to Fleet Feet and exchanged the for a pair of Nike LunarGlides. Pretty excited. I’ve been talking about getting these for like a year. I finally got around to it. What color are they? Electric pink. Sigh. Slightly embarassed about that. I was tempted to ask if they had a pair in a color that would be taken more seriously. Oh well. Excited to put these guys to the test and hoping they work out. Nothing more deflating than looking at all of the missed days on my training log… or realizing that yesterday when I ran 5, I was supposed to be running 12. I need my mental mojo back.
- Brother is officially playing softball with me now. New Guy has yet to make a game due to his ridiculous schedule so he’s taking credit for recruiting me who, in turn, recruited Brother. There’s a transitive property thing in there somewhere.
- Speaking of softball, our sponsor bar also sponsors its own singles league (of which we’re not a part). This means that every week, when we’re drowning our sorrows in free beer and cheap pizza, love connections are abound. A few weeks ago, this led to a most awesomely awkward moment. I’ve set it up like a Shakespearean play… or a telenovela… or a public access drama:
Chic enters bathroom.
Random Singles League Girl: Um, this is really weird but can I have a hug?
Chic looks around. No one else to jump on this grenade.
Chic: …. sure? **butt’s out hug… I don’t know this betch!** What’s wrong? Are you ok?
RSLG: *pause* Where the f*** is my period?!!??!
Chic Internal Monologue: Holy balls! Awkward. Where’s the door. OMG Where’s the DOOR!! What do I say to this???? “Sorry about your maybe baby?” Damn. Help. Oh, man. I gotta say *something*!
Chic (actual response): Oh, um, I’m sure it’s around. *exits*
RSLG exits and resumes playing beer pong with her RSL friends.
Needless to say, I’ve shared this story with my team and we’re on Preggers Watch every week. She’s been drinking beer, so here’s hoping that means Maybe Baby was a false alarm. Now… disclaimer: I feel slightly bad for telling my team (and now all 8.2 people that read this) about this but then I remember that she was really drunk and doesn’t appear to remember telling me … and…. she told a stranger in the bathroom of a bar. If you want to keep this under wraps, tell your best girlfriend… or Dear Abby.