At least I think it’s week 9. It could be week 10, or week 11. I have no concept of time anymore. The holidays have stolen all of it from me.
And speaking of “stolen,” I realize that I haven’t posted at all since just after Thanksgiving, which in my mind is kind of like reverse stealing I guess because I’m depriving you of my inane, stream-of-consciousness ramblings.
People keep telling me “when are you going to post again? I love reading your blog posts!” and all I can think is “… what drugs are you on because I want some of that.”
Anyway, without further ado, here’s how last week’s training went!
Tuesday – 5 Miles, NOPE.
I was at the Dallas Digital Summit on Tuesday. And by “on” Tuesday I mean all freaking day. I left the house at, I think, 4:30AM because driving from south Fort Worth to Irving is roughly equivalent to having razor blades shoved under your finger nails.
The conference ended at something like 5:30 (great timing! just in time for the WORST TRAFFIC DURING ANY TIME OF THE DAY.)
I got back to my office in Bedford at about 7:00 (yes, an hour and a half to get from Irving to Bedford. DFW traffic, if I ever meet you in a dark alley, I swear to sweet 10 pound 8 ounce baby Jesus I will knife you right in the groin), did my actual job for a little while, and then fought my way back to the house.
I think I hit the house at 8:45, and by that point there was just no running happening, period.
Wednesday – 3 Miles, NOPE.
Cue Dallas Digital Summit again (second day). I won’t bore you with all of the saucy details, which mainly involve my phone going from 100% to dead in about four hours (WTF Apple) and fighting through
Satan’s wet dream DFW traffic again.
Thursday – 5 Miles, NOPE.
Are you starting to see a pattern yet?
I had every intention of running on Thursday, since it was my first day back on a “normal” schedule, but then Sarah reminded me that I’d promised to go with her to a Junior League meeting that afternoon at Bass Hall.
Now, normally you wouldn’t find me within five miles of a Junior League meeting
because they don’t make earplugs that are strong enough to drown out 200 women talking over each other because I don’t look good in heels (not to mention boys have cooties and aren’t allowed), but in this case spouses were invited.
Why? To see the Texas Ballet Theater do their final dress rehearsal of the Nutcracker, of course!
Sarah knew I couldn’t resist the Nutcracker. It’s a perennial Christmas favorite for me, and also holds special memory because I scored 5th row orchestra center tickets for myself and Sarah on the night that I proposed to her and she said “yes” for reasons still undetermined.
Sunday – 10 Miles, NOPE.
Buckle up, because I’m about to Tarantino this shit.
This is approximately what Sarah and I looked like when we woke up on Sunday morning:
On Saturday, Sarah held an ornament exchange Christmas party for her sorority alumni (alumnae? who the hell knows) group, which gave me the perfect excuse to sneak out of my chick-infested house and head to Rahr Brewery for my friend Albert’s birthday.
Later that evening and three beers in, Sarah and I linked up to head over to the SHAG Christmas party. Despite what it sounds like, the SHAG Christmas party was 0% orgy and 100% friends from the CrossFit gym that we attend, SHAGFitness on Camp Bowie.
By the way, have I mentioned that I don’t tolerate beer terribly well?
At this point, I still had every intention of running my 10 miles the next day. Hell, I was excited for it, especially after a lackluster week of training.
I certainly had no intention of getting schwastey faced.
But, with all the fun and frivolity going on at the party (not to mention free-flowing scotch and bourbon, my two favorites), my inner functional alcoholic won out.
Two scotches in, my
slightly inebriated exceptionally “happy” CrossFit coach challenged me to a game of beer pong (using bourbon instead of beer, which really should have been a warning sign for me but of course was not), and I’m ninety-nine percent sure that someone kept pouring more bourbon into the cups that I’d already downed.
“Jolly” is probably the most PC word I can use to describe how I was by the end of the evening, and I was glibly telling anyone who would listen that I wouldn’t be hungover the next day and would definitely be running my ten miles.
And that brings us to Sunday morning. Bright… so bright… so very bright… Sunday morning.
On the one hand, I missed an entire week’s worth of training runs. Bad Carter, slap on the wrist for you.
But on the other hand… at least I did it with style?