My running friend, David, wrote a post the other day about how Facebook killed his blog. It’s true, micro-blogging as taken over the world. It only seems apropos since we are a fast food nation – and I am the first to admit, I do love the instant gratification. But sometimes I feel it would be nice not to be sandwiched between pop-up alerts, likes and comments. And/or sometimes, I might want to do both. Or maybe not. I’m the only one in charge right now – so I get to decide.
Today’s decision: eat less fast food, give better blog. Thank you, David.
Where to begin?
An old running friend I haven’t seen in many years, called me the other day so we could catch up (READ: she read my blog and freaked out.) I briefly summarized the last several years of my life and she kept expressing so much sadness for what’s happened to me. At first I was surprised by her sadness, but then I realized when one uses words and phrases like “real live mafia”, “guts ripped out”, “toxic bacteria”, “giant flames”, “suffocation”, “stupid cat”, “spiral of death” and “fucking asshat” it kind of makes the sadness obligatory.
I really should stop talking like that.
I kept assuring her that I was not sad and everything was okay and that Kenza is good. Times change. Things change. Yes, this week has been challenging – flat tires, new tires, electrical problems, leaking roof, hormonal teenager and unexpected attorney expenses all add an ungracious element of uncertainty that questions the confidence of doing this alone – but everything is good. And it really is okay. Especially when I have a pillow to muffle my own screaming.
Finally my friend asked if I was still running. I thanked the Baby Jesus for the LET’S STOP TALKING ABOUT MY SUCKY LIFE segue because YES I AM RUNNING and it feels fantastic. And it’s about stinking time. However, I’m not quite down to my hunting weight, so the antelopes are currently safe. Safe until I give up my wine calories. Which means the antelopes will live forever.
We weren’t hunting antelopes this morning, but Peggy and I were unusually fast and went further along the trail than I think we’ve ever recorded. It was nice. And fast. And beautiful. Almost like flying. And, surprisingly, like RUNNING and not so much like pushing an enormous baby out of your vagina.
These runs are what wonderful things are made from – sugar and sugar and cake and sugar and wine. With cheese and sugar on the side. All things which I plan to eat and drink after Isle du Bois in December. Then early next year, and I am quite certain I will regret this moment, I’ll be ready for another full, 26.2 marathon. But not the training part, so lets forget about that last bit and move along to other issues.
Internet People, because I know you sincerely care about this universally imperative issue, let’s talk about my hair. We all remember those horrible past several years when my hair fell out and broke off because of all the previous unspeakable crap. If you knew me then, you know what I’m talking about. But, we can put that behind us now because I HAVE HAIR which continues to repopulate itself like hair. Imagine that. It’s those little things, Internet People – trust me. And as much as I bitch about the I UNFORTUNATELY LOOK LIKE I WAS BORN IN TEXAS massiveness of its current state, it is nice to have it back to normal – despite this stupid hot and humid weather, which makes it grotesquely unmanageable 99.9 percent of the time. I have no clue what I’m going to do with it, but I’m just glad I can finally break up with the flat iron. (Many thanks to my Martini Twin and her wonderfully talented staff). I miss you guys.