Pi day. It’s nearly over and I’m late to catch on to this Twitter trending holiday but now that I have, how could I not do a post? Confession: in addition to being a running nerd I’m actually not too shabby in the mathematical geekdom. So you could in fact wake me up in the dead of night and I’d be able to rattle off 3.14159in a beat.
Whether you are single or with a special someone, never fret because even if the fat, little Cupid didn’t come visit you with chocolates and arrows, running’s got you covered. True, it may not be able to spoon you in the middle of the night, but running can be an ideal partner in plenty of other ways. It will bring you presents all year round, not just one day in February…
Running will surprise you with…
* A dozen sweaty socks littered throughout your house. Actually these sneaky stinkers will pop up darn near everywhere, in your car, in your bag, maybe even static clung to your pants. Who can keep track of them all? Anti-blister, moisture wicking sentiments of miles past. Is that one clean or dirty?
* Running shoes as far as the eyes can see. Or at least you can drool over them in the rainbow of colors…ghosts of runs past.
* A foot-full of callouses and blisters. Really, who needs a box full of chocolates when you can look at these puppies?
Well, I have to say the big fat man was good to me this year! Bear with me as I take a quick moment to get a wee bit sentimental as I am one lucky runnerchick to have such an amazing family and wonderful friends…it’s been a great past few days as we’ve made the holiday tour of duty!
Woke up today and decided that it’s never too late to try and give Rudolf a runfor his money. I lost, but I did get in a little tempo run on the treadmill…even had the distraction of the last dregs of Christmas movies playing. Then because of this little foot of mine I did my cool-down on the elliptical, all in all a great way to start the day, though I was especially tooty-fruity, I guess those last bits of sweets last night put me over the edge!
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and across the North Pole,
Santa called all his reindeer, he had one special goal.
Stopwatch in hand the beasts lined at the track,
Dasher and Dancer were talking lots of smack.
Blitzen was shivering forgotten to warm-up,
Vixen true to name wearing a risque get-up.
Prancer there smartly testing the legs with strides,
Comet there bouncing, nerves wracked his insides.
While I tend to be a positive person, I know there are times when even the most Cindy-Loo-Who’s of us get a little cranky. Even if the big fat man in a red suit is watching, I also know that sometimes it is fully warranted to let our Grinch flag fly.
You know how I was saying not too long ago about runners being in a sort of constant pain from one thing or the other? If you want a real laugh take a gander at this chick the first few steps of any run…*snap crackle pop*…it isn’t coming from the Rice Krispies.
I know I’m not the only one, it’s hilarious (in that kind of way) because regular runners and even record holders/world-class athletes alike have a tendency to look a bit like Frankenstein before they are ‘warmed’ into that run.
Christmas seems to take me by surprise as I get older. When I was younger I was counting down the weeks (who else made those epicly long chain ring?!) before November, but now it seems like when I start hearing the stores put Rudolf and Frostie the Snowman on the repeat loop I’m thrown, “What…already?!”
I still consider myself a five year old trapped in a 20-something’s body so I’m always ashamed and appalled that I’ve forgotten to make my chain ring. Where is that fat man so I can go sit on his lap? I hope I’ve been on the winning side of good this year, but who really knows…
Fair warning, this post will be all over the place. It’ll be dishing up a fine slew of sides, sort of it’s own little bloggy feast. In a break from any kind of tradition, we’ll start with the main course.
Gobble, Gobble, turkey wobble. Yes, Thanksgiving is tomorrow for those of us in the States and I’ll break out the festivities early. I’m pretty sure that yes, indeed, the first Thanksgiving involved a mad dash for the bird, racing bibs and all.