Later that day, Party Week began, beginning with
Sunday night and the oh-my-god-I've-never-been-in-a-mansion-before-party:
Me: Food! I just ran a half-marathon! I can eat anything I want!! Bring on the wine! OOOH COOKIES!
Monday morning: I am walking like Frankenstein. Have I ever run before? Really? I don't THINK so. Ouuuuch.
Monday night: It's farewell-to-bellringing-instructor-who-was-R.I.F.'d.(R.I.F.=LAID OFF, MADE REDUNDANT, SACKED)-Party:
Me: Hmmm. It's a potluck. Steak and oyster pie is the main course, along with green beans, and um, dip, and cookies and a pavlova! And wine! I just ran a half-marathon, plus, I'm not eating the main course, so bring on the desserts!
Tuesday morning: I think I'll skip spinning because um...I still can't walk. Hunt is on for a sports massage. Book one for Tuesday night.
Tuesday night: Hustle downtown for excellent sports massage. Get home late. Again. But less sore. Yes!
Wednesday morning: It's A MIRACLE, I CAN WALK!
Wednesday afternoon: Get e-mail from the Instigator, Sandy, "Are you going to the Christmas Light Run tonight?" Followed by increasingly insistent text messages. Result? I go!
Wednesday night: Drive home from work, change into running kit, scarf cheese and crackers, and drive to Metro to the annual (very fun) Christmas Light Run! Where I learn? That running=pain.
My peeps!Wednesday late night: Do yoga poses and many stretches.
Thursday morning: Dear God, I. am. tired.
Thursday night: Official work Christmas party! Woot!!! Fifth night in a row that I will not be home.
Me: I just ran a half-marathon! I can eat anything I want! More wine! Cookies! Um...I don't feel so good....I may give birth. Owwwww. Need. Sleep. Immediately.
Sleep 12 hours straight.
Moral? Am now busy reading Skinny Bitch (I've got the bitch part down...it's the other part I need to work on).
Meanwhile, run with me in the Fredericksburg Blue-Gray Half-Marathon (photos courtesy Susie):
Blue-Gray @3miles. This is CAKE!
Blue-Gray @6miles. Still cake! I am a ROCK STAR!
Blue-Gray @please let this end! 13 freaking miles
Heh. I so beat the clock.
First beer since 1979. Hey, I can't feel my legs!
Need. Massage. Now.
