Running / St. John

I've been running. A lot. The half-marathon is Sunday so I've been trying to see how much I can hurt myself to break 2 hours. I'm like an old creaky ship. Brainiac I am, I decided to wear my new shoes for my nine mile run on Saturday. You think I would learn not to do crazy crap like that before a race. Three years ago, I tested out a new brand of shoes during the Scottsdale Night Run. I ended up with torn toe tissue. At the end of the run on Saturday, I had developed a blister on the inside of my foot. I'm not sure it was the loose socks I was wearing, the new shoes, or the fact that I ran nine miles looking like I was fleeing a fire. Retard.

I took a long bike ride on Sunday, and yesterday tested myself by doing a 3 mile fast run. Pushing one of my charges in the stroller. Forget it. I was sore, tired, and slow. The Gumpesqueness I felt on Saturday had evaporated and I stumbled through the streets like a sloth. There was my sign. Two days of rest or I'm gonna crash and burn on Sunday.

On Sunday night I drove my parents to the airport. They were departing for 10 nights in St. John, in the USVI. As a kid, my family spent several vacations in St. John, and it's where Scot and I honeymooned. The parental unit is renting a one-bedroom condo overlooking the water. The flights to get to St. John are long, and it took my parents 17 hours, door to door. But when they got there they had nothing to do but make a PB &J and gaze out at the sea (they brought sandwich makings) You think I'd be sick with envy, but I'm not. My parents slogged through two sets of children, grad school and 40 years of careers. It's their time. I just ask they drink a beer for me.