It was a lovely morning, cool for August and overcast, but not a lovely run. I mean, the course was fine, but some days when you run you feel invigorated and your breathing is easy and natural and your step is bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, fun-fun-fun-fun-fun... and then other days are more like Saturday was for me. It wasn't awful, but it was ugly. My breathing was all heavy and ragged, my feet were slapping the ground, and I just kind of threw myself forward for 10 kilometers. Still good enough for third place in my division, which I will take any day of the week and twice on Sundays, as they only handed out medals to the top three in each division. Medals are disturbingly important to me. They don't even have to be actual awards or placement medals; finishers medals are enough for me.
Honestly, it's a good thing I'm not good enough at pretty much anything to qualify for the Olympics; I'd be that person that gets medal fever and loses all scope and perspective of what's universally important. There would also no doubt be a lot more tears and snot in my life.
We also went to the local parade, where my kids gathered candy for me. They may not have known it was for me, but it most certainly was.
|"Now, run out in front of that firetruck and get me that strawberry Laffy Taffy. I am not even kidding, son."|
And yes, that is my race medal hanging from my neck. I wore that thing all day, including the forever we spent at the cell phone store because Derek is dragging me into the 21st century: I am getting a smart phone. It should arrive in the mail tomorrow, but hopefully not too soon before the case I ordered for it, which I am 99% more excited about than the phone itself. Just wait. You will either love it or roll your eyes at it; I will love it and squeal in excitement and croon over it.
Before that, though, there were bananas.
I... I'm not real sure just what moment Derek managed to capture here. Perhaps I'm questioning why I have three bananas in my hands at a parade and zero Laffy Taffy? I just don't know.
Derek's parents not only joined us at the parade and the Place Where Time Ceases to Exist (cell phone store), they also brought us a bucket of apples.
I did the right thing and turned them all into cinnamon apple sauce.
|FCA: Future Composters of America|
Then Caedmon and I went to book club, where we discussed this book:
If you enjoy historical fiction, or strong heroines, or Civil War-era books, or books about women who are midwives but want to be surgeons but can't because they have committed the crime of lacking a Y chromosome so instead answer the call for nurses for the war, then this is the book for you. Every year my book club devotes one month to reading the All Iowa Reads book selection for the year, and to be perfectly frank, they usually suck, like, insanely suck, to the extent that when I discovered just today that My Name is Mary Sutter was an All Iowa Reads book I was a little shocked, because this book does not suck. You'll want to wash your hands a lot and reach into the book to strangle a couple characters, but it was great, and sparked healthy discussion today. I definitely recommend it.