I'm really kind of over this running thing.
I survived the 23 mile run with no problem, whatsoever. I think my problem is my love for Saturday night, my love for sugar, and my love for sleep - and during training, I can't have any of the above.
Nothing exciting to report about the 10 mile run. It was the same route from Griffith Park, up the hill, down the hill, out Victory, turning down Riverside, to the back of Disney Studios - then up Keystone all the way to Burbank Blvd, then turn it around and back again.
I did one "maintenance run" (you're supposed to do two a week) on Thursday. The run itself was fine, but during the last three miles, the sun was rather hot. I feel sorry for the people who are doing Honolulu, because their 26 mile training run (thank GOD we didn't have to do that) is in Griffith Park away from the beach, and unless it cools down over the next few weeks, that run is going to suck for them.
Ryan traveled back from San Diego in the wee hours of yesterday morning, so he slept in - so no Ryan. Just Catie and Shannon and our little group.
I toyed with the idea of hiring Italians (unknown Italians of course) to jump out on the course at various time with knives and chase us. Because frankly, running 26.2 miles and no one is chasing you... you know... why?
What would be the rush is not knowing if the people chasing us, were actually my hired incentives, or simply crazy Italians out to kill us.
The good news is, today was our last 10 mile run. The next two "long" runs are 8 miles a piece. (Though I'm sure our Coach Mike will prep us with, "it's just a short 8 mile run. So we're going to go up and over the hill 8 times.)
I contemplated sleeping in this morning. You see, my room now looks like the a set for Crate and Barrel. I went through my closet and ended up with five giant bags of clothes to donate. And that was the right side of my closet. But it was nice finding clothes I thought I had lost. I found my favorite "Alias" hoodie. I also realized that Levi's lie when they say 30 inch waist. That or the makers of Diesel just want to make me feel better about myself.
It was nice to finally hang clothes in my closet that I actually wear, and not in giant piles all over my room. Seriously, it was beginning to look like aliens had gone into my room during a lively party and incinerated about thirty people, leaving nothing but their clothes. Granted, these people would have been mingling in segregation... whites over here. Oranges near the foot of my bed. Jeans and collared shirts near the window. And a group of athletes on top of my dresser.
Why these people were in my bedroom when the aliens attacked, we will never know.
I also deep cleaned the kitchen yesterday. Even though there have been no sightings of mice, I still cringed every time I opened the doors under the sink - their underground railroad into our house. How those bastards are able to shimmy up from the basement (the basement we did not know we had for the first three years we lived there) - up past the studio below us where Erin lives - and into our cabinet, I will never know. Every time I opened it, I kept expecting forty of them to have blue painted faces like Mel Gibson in "Braveheart." Their little cries of "hold!! Hold!!! Hold!!! NOW!" Then they lift up cleaning supplies and charge out to reclaim the house.
Today it's all about the bathroom. I know I will disappoint the millions who were hoping the cure for cancer was in my sink, but it's got to go. The bathroom is sort of the lost cause of Corona. My roommate has never touched a bottle of Comet. So the only time it ever gets cleaned is when his mother mysteriously turns up or I clean it. He offered to clean it tomorrow. Yeah, right.
I'm also dying to go see a movie today, but I know I'll fall asleep. As soon as I got home from Starbucks, I checked my e-mail, showered and then went to church. I kept trying to will myself to stay awake from the exhaustion. The entire time, I had my heart set on a roast beef sandwich from the Canyon Cafe on Laurel Canyon. Natch, today was the day they are taking the annual photo with everyone outside the cafe.
So to the office I went. I came. I'm here now. I was starved. I could literally feel my stomach eating itself. I made a sandwich in the kitchen, just as Rob Fresco nearly gave me a heart attack when he rounded the corner. (He's here working on his script that comes out tomorrow).
If only he were an Italian with a knife.