|Now taking donations for these suckers....|
It's been a lazy, lazy day on my end. I'm not very proud of it. Sure, Donnie and I cleaned the entire house, did all the dishes, made delicious grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch (eeeeek it's FALL!!!!) and gave myself a (badly needed) mani with a new fall shade, but I didn't do the MAIN thing I wanted to kick my weekend off with: I missed my morning Team run. It's ok to shed some tears. I have.
I was SUPPOSED to go for a 10 or so miler this morning and I'd been psyched for like a week for it! The route was going to take me through this park that I have been jonesing to run through for like a month now. Donnie doesn't like me logging tons of miles on an out and back type course because he thinks it's not safe. Sometimes it makes me really mad (...ok, not REALLY mad), but really I think it's very sweet that he cares so much. So this morning, my dream was going to come true: FIRST autumn run of the season, awesome park, hill work, team bonding, AND I'd be done and ready for my day by like 8. Win, win, win, right? WRONG. Guess what idiot woke up feeling like complete and utter dog crap? (Hint: this kid, right here.)(...I'm pointing to myself, you just can't see it...) And I didn't even drink last night! UNFAIR.
It takes a lot for me to admit to Donnie that I'm not feeling well enough to make a run happen. If I ever tell him I'm not running because I don't feel good, he usually won't let me do anything active for like at least 3 days. Which..is a total bummer. So this morning, I contemplated for a solid 10 minutes (because that was all the time I had left for myself to get ready) before I swallowed my pride and said those awful seven words: "I think I'm too sick to run..." Perhaps I should add in here that Donnie was going to come with me on this morning's run. While he isn't on the team (nor does he have any desire to run 10 miles...or do a half ironman), he was going to join me at the park and do his own thing while I did mine. So, while I was selfishly contemplating my own run's fate, poor guy had gotten himself out of bed (5:45 on a Saturday, folks) and was in the middle of putting on his running clothes when I decided to break the news to him. What. A. Champ. He didn't even seem upset with me. (Or maybe he was and I just had my head so far up my own ass that I didn't notice any one else's feelings but my own of defeat).
Needless to say, I'm pretty sure my husband gets the "Fella of the YEAR" award today. He let me wake him up to run for nothing, he let me sleep it off until like 8:45 while he was awake, making biscuits and getting stuff done, he helped me clean the whole house this morning, AND he just said the most beautiful words to me: "So...what time are we going to run tonight?"
Donnie O'Neil- you sir, are a gentleman. And a scholar.
Oh, and also, Trader Joe's opened in Houston this weekend. That'll get it's own post, perhaps after the completion of this evening run.
Cheers to the official start of autumn, and one of the last long runs I do in my old running shoes!