This is so lame, but I have to brag it: I ran eight miles yesterday.
It’s lame because I’m bragging. It’s lame because it was only eight miles (for serious distance runners, eight is the bottom of the barrel of long runs – the bare minimum you need to scrape by and call it a “long run.” ) It’s lame because it was the highlight of my weekend.
I need a life.
I mean, yeah, I was in the news after witnessing a scaffolding accident and then reporting it on twitter. But that was Friday…oh so long ago.
And I did go to a kicking barbecue on Saturday afternoon and got to hang with some of the Lunch Bunch. But that took about zero effort, unless you count the trips back and forth to the fridge to fetch another beer.
And the boyfriend did take me to a very nice dinner on Sunday after we visited the parents. But I spent most of that dinner still reeling from the stress my parents were oozing over their pending move.
So, the fact that I got my butt out of bed on Monday morning to run eight miles for no other reason than I may or may not run a marathon this fall and I kinda want to see how my body does in some long runs, kind of impressed me. And it was the first time I’ve run that far since 2006. And it was a drizzly dreary morning.
I can get over myself about right. now.
Ok, but one more thing.
(And then I pinky swear, cross my heart and hope to die, Girl Scout promise that the next post on this blog will not be a bragolicious, self-righteous, look at me, I’m such a good runner, tale.)
The rotel cheese dip and bacon ranch pasta salad I made for the Barbecue at the boyfriends rocked the hizzouse.
That’s all.
