Even Stupid People Know to Come In Out of the Rain

Another chapter in the long-playing saga of Not Born to Run.

A 12-mile run was scheduled on Saturday...unless there was a New Triathlete Program bike ride, which I had volunteered to help out on, but which was going to be canceled if the weather turned yucky...

So I figured the bike ride was canceled on Saturday morning, since it was raining and 30F AND windy. A trifecta of crap! A crapecta! Bike ride off, 12 mile run on! I pulled on my running duds, got in the elevator, went down to the front door, opened it, stepped outside...and no. No way. Back in the elevator, back upstairs, right to my door. Stop. "C'mon! You can DO this! You've done it a million times before!" Back to the elevator, back downstairs, out the front door, this time down the steps, where I stood there...and No. Way. Not Happening.

Back upstairs and into a toasty warm bed.

Too bad the bike ride was actually ON. I had now effectively skipped two workouts. This? Made me cranky.

It's possible that I was tired. (Have I mentioned before that I'm TIRED?? Thanks for all your fine, fine advice!) It didn't help that my neighbors have all decided to go beserk at the same time. Friday night, my downstairs neighbors decided to stand on the balcony--JUST BELOW the window that my bed is against—and SMOKE, and talk and yell at the top of their lungs. We called the cops not once, but three times. It's possible that someone in my apartment leaned over my balcony and yelled at them. Just to make sure they knew exactly who called the cops.

Sigh.

Sunday dawned bright and clear and chilly, after another night of different neighbors going beserk on their balcony, so I had to sweet-talk myself into getting at least 10 miles done. I brought Phedippidations along with me—I've been running iPod-less for the past year at least, so this was a big treat—and I got 'er done. Number One Daugher and I had a lovely Easter, and I ate about 10 lbs of chocolate.

My fifth swim lesson was this morning. My instructor had me swimming on my back with fins, working on my kick, and? I was drowning. I mentioned this to her, and she said, "I'm not really concerned with that right now, I'm concentrating on your kick." She cracks me up. She's been timing my 50s, which is freaking nerve-wracking, and in one week I went from 1:04s to :53s. Of course I'm tossing up a lung at the end.

Tuesday night is my last track workout in the Speed Dev Program! My how time ... sort of flies. Not really. I both look forward to and loathe the end of track. But tomorrow night we have the choice of doing a track workout, or doing the Firebird mile race. Which sounds pretty horrifying. I need some solid advice from the masses. Crowdsource me. Take my handy dandy poll:

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