Kill Em All

So I did run on Wednesday and because I was too lazy to write a post, it's my favorite cop out, the bulleted list:

• The run did totally kick my ass.
• I got complimented on my new shoes by two ladies who lunch. I told them they were brand new and they said "not for long!" and I thought "that's the point, fatties! Get to running!" Ouch. I'm awful.
• Again with the dogs. Two off-leash golden retrievers almost took my legs out. After they passed, the owner kept telling them to HEEL. Here's the thing: heel DOES NOT WORK. You can tell me all day that your dogs can heel. I have a nice big fat squirrel and a big fat T-bone that says your dog won't heel when you need it to. They're descended from WOLVES, people. Anything can distract them, especially on a trail. So knock it the fuck off with this heel bullshit.
• Weird people with dogs. My favorite combination. This guy had FIVE dogs off-leash on the narrow trail--a ST. BERNARD, two labs, a jack russel and some other mutt. My favorite line: "They're friendly!" Well guess what asshole, I am totally not friendly and I'm going to kick your dog in the face, except that you look like the unabomber, so next time, when I have my mace, I'll mace you and your little dog too.
  
• I felt like I had smoked ten packs of cigarettes right before running. I reminisced about a little back and forth Coach and I had during my very first Shamrock Run when I told him I had no lung capacity. And then he said if I could say lung capacity...and then I clocked him.

Today I ran (don't ask my why I skipped yesterday. I'm a shell of my former runner self.). And it was gorgeous, as you all know. It was a bit breezy and I could feel the wind ruffling my leg hair. Good times(TM). I did a quick 43 minutes and was glad I did.

I am five pounds away from posting before and after pictures. You'll want to tune in for that. Because geez, imagine 163 pounds on a five foot tall frame. It's so not pretty.

Oh, forgot to mention one thing about my trail run...about seven people passed me running mob deep. I again reminisced about our old Via runs. And I am so sad that I am running one person deep. It's so not fun. I miss those times but thankfully they were so awesome that I will never, ever forget them. However, if someone doesn't step up and try to become a running partner, I will kill em all (that's actually a Metallica album. Not their best one, obviously [Master], but I do like saying that).

This is for my Benji:





And this is the baby:

Suck City

About two and a half weeks ago I came down with a sinus infection and boy, did I act like I had a man cold. In retrospect, I probably wasn't even closed to dying, but having to sleep while breathing through your mouth is definitely a layer of hell. So at the time I came down with the infection, weather and laziness had kept me from running for over a week. By the time I got the antibiotics working and felt good enough to brave the outdoors, I had not run for TWO WEEKS. The guilt.

So I went out and did three runs: one on the trail (sucked) and two in my neighborhood. The one I made a conscious effort to run faster and probably ran a minute per mile faster than usual. I felt on top of the world!

Enter the tickle in the throat last Monday. I told Michael about it, and true to form, he informs me that he has bronchitis (he loves the self diagnosis). Needless to say by Monday night we were both pretty sick...Michael especially, but I thought I could be strong for the family.

Tuesday and Wednesday were sick days for Michael and we both were running fevers and coughing. The boys seemed to be fine. Thursday I went to a client meeting, probably infected the entire office (sorry Coach), came home and slept while I had the sitter. Thursday night Oliver didn't sleep well. A foreshadowing. Friday I went to the doctor to get more antibiotics. Then came home and slept for five hours while I had the sitter.

Saturday through yesterday: both babies got very sick. Oliver started running a fever on Saturday morning...102 that promptly escalated to 104 by the afternoon. The doctor told me to go to the ER. Obviously there was nothing they could do except let me know I wasn't giving enough Tylenol. DOH. Anyhoo, after 1000 doses of Tylenol and Motrin both boys seem to be getting better.

(Not going into details because I might claw my eyes out remembering, but dealing with a two year old that doesn't feel well is akin to rolling the stone up the hill all day or getting your innards poked out by birds all day or standing in water while you're dying of thirst and not being able to bend down and take a drink. I SHIT YOU NOT, people. Between the howling, the holding, the hitting, the throwing and the banging of the head, I almost had a nervous breakdown).

And this people is why I hate February. And this is why I may have to bring back "Sarah's Songs: The February Mix tape."

Today a run is planned. Check back for details of a brutal ass kicking.