It's nice to feel like doing things again. It's so rare for me to be the one sick, and even more so for me to be the friendly neighborhood cold-gifter - I've been thrown by it. The treadmill and spin bike have been perfectly hospitable places to be this week.
There are only excellent things to say about the new shoes. The kind and helpful running shop saleswoman informed me, in no uncertain terms, that when she bought them for herself (and she had credibility, as she was actually wearing them at the time), she finally broke through a minutes-per-mile barrier she'd been struggling with for a long time, and that I might want to expect the same. Insert eyeroll, I've been running the same pace for what seems like an eternity at this point.
I'll be damned. She was right. And I like running faster. Mucho, mucho gusto.
Thank you, Mizuno, for that little box of fabulosity.
(and there will be no more cheap socks.)
The new "activewear" (meaning "wear it around town as regular clothes, don't exercise in it") shirt I've got on today has a nifty feature: thumb holes. Seriously. You're going to laugh at me if you live somewhere cold, because you probably take thumb holes for granted, but Gulf Coast Girl needed to see the words "thumb holes" printed on the tag to understand what those holes in the sleeves were for. Where have my thumbs been all morning? I submit that there is no better place for a thumb than a thumb hole. For years, I've wrapped my fingers around my shirt cuffs like Jennifer Love Hewitt in Party of Five...and now the cuffs stay put! Because of thumb holes! You have no idea how badly I wish technological advances and I were on better terms - there should be a picture right here. Something for my to-do list.
We're making my Dad's gumbo for Thanksgiving. This requires a trial run, to be conducted this weekend with the help of some brave (I mean, willing) subjects (um, friends). Dad, I am so sorry in advance for what is possibly about to happen to your gumbo. Whatever it is that goes wrong in this kitchen will not go wrong On Purpose.
When I make things with spelt flour, I am the only person who's going to eat them.
Perhaps not the 4th cup of coffee with the decongestant chaser? My thumbs, they shake in their little holes.
Satellite radio played Winona's Big Brown Beaver on 3 stations simultaneously this morning. Now I can't get the theme song from Deliverance out of my head. Not that those are the same, but you have to admit the segue's neither bad nor entirely far-fetched. Every time I start doing something, there are dueling banjos in my head. Which leaves me wondering whether to blame Sirius or the aforementioned coffee/decongestant cocktail.....
Until Turkis Maximus starts driving himself places, Mom's Taxi is at the ready. Time to get on with this Thursday we've got going. To leave you with a thought:
If you'd gone running when you started thinking about it, you'd be back by now.