Himself is out running again. This means two things. He's working from home (which is mostly a good thing, although my routine goes right out the window) and I'm feeling guilty. As he does his five or ten miles...who even knows...I sit here in my faded pink fuzzy bathrobe which I remember wearing in the maternity ward twenty years ago. The elastic on the cuffs is shot, but it's otherwise just fine and I like the collar. At the moment it has cat hair on it. We don't own a cat, but there is a sweetheart who lives next door who comes to visit every morning. I sit on the chair on the front porch and cuddle him. He hates my husband.
I have a drawer full of running clothes. "Technical shirts" which wick moisture, long stretchy running slacks with zippers on the legs so I can pull them on over my over-priced and scientifically structured running shoes, belts to carry water bottles, and something called a "Spi-belt" which holds house keys, money, and telephone without letting them bounce. I am READY, baby! The only thing I don't have is the ambition. In fact, I would rather lick a pigeon. Once in a very blue moon (except the recent one, because I didn't feel like it) I actually go out and "ralk" at the beach. This is one-quarter run and three-quarters walk. Oh, I'm really a little better than that, and I can go two miles without needing a transplant. I have even done two 5K races. A 5K, for those of you who live in blissful ignorance of these things, is 3.1 miles long. You wear a number and usually get a tee-shirt that you will seldom wear again. These are very dangerous for me to do, because if I were any slower I would get sucked up into the street-sweeping machine. But I finished two of them. You'd think I'd be so proud of myself.
The reality is my husband has done the Boston Marathon eight times. EIGHT TIMES. And there were a couple of other marathons, but we don't even count them. Now I have a saying of which I'm fond, "Once is curiosity. Twice is perversion." I think it applies here, but what the heck, it makes him happy and as long as he's not chasing after a blonde he can catch I don't care and I'm glad he's taking care of himself. But my accomplishments (with my short little legs) pale beside my six-foot-plus string bean's. So I'm doing my blog (something he would NEVER tackle! HA!) and about to make another cup of tea. I may go for a run later. Nah, it's a jog. Who am I kidding? But I probably won't. But in my defense, let's remember one thing....the cat LOVES me!
I have a drawer full of running clothes. "Technical shirts" which wick moisture, long stretchy running slacks with zippers on the legs so I can pull them on over my over-priced and scientifically structured running shoes, belts to carry water bottles, and something called a "Spi-belt" which holds house keys, money, and telephone without letting them bounce. I am READY, baby! The only thing I don't have is the ambition. In fact, I would rather lick a pigeon. Once in a very blue moon (except the recent one, because I didn't feel like it) I actually go out and "ralk" at the beach. This is one-quarter run and three-quarters walk. Oh, I'm really a little better than that, and I can go two miles without needing a transplant. I have even done two 5K races. A 5K, for those of you who live in blissful ignorance of these things, is 3.1 miles long. You wear a number and usually get a tee-shirt that you will seldom wear again. These are very dangerous for me to do, because if I were any slower I would get sucked up into the street-sweeping machine. But I finished two of them. You'd think I'd be so proud of myself.
The reality is my husband has done the Boston Marathon eight times. EIGHT TIMES. And there were a couple of other marathons, but we don't even count them. Now I have a saying of which I'm fond, "Once is curiosity. Twice is perversion." I think it applies here, but what the heck, it makes him happy and as long as he's not chasing after a blonde he can catch I don't care and I'm glad he's taking care of himself. But my accomplishments (with my short little legs) pale beside my six-foot-plus string bean's. So I'm doing my blog (something he would NEVER tackle! HA!) and about to make another cup of tea. I may go for a run later. Nah, it's a jog. Who am I kidding? But I probably won't. But in my defense, let's remember one thing....the cat LOVES me!
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