Duh..

I have come to the brilliant conclusion that when I'm not sick, I run a whole lot better. When I am sick, I just feel like the Worst Runner Ever. Then I have days like today, when I'm keeping up with the lead pack and feel strong (despite the pain on the side of my butt that I bruised after my spectacular fall Monday). It's like having PMS: you can't figure out why you're crying at the Country Crock commercials until a day later when you get your period.

Four more days until the half-marathon...

Pussycat Dolls

Should I be concerned that my 3 year-old boy is singing "Don't you wish your girlfriend was HOT like ME?"

She's got hair!

The old heave-ho

So perhaps I was a bit hard on myself, as my friend M pointed out. Looking back, the 10 miles was a HUGE accomplishment - especially in light of of what happened later that night. David and I were, simultaneously, hit with a heinous stomach/intestinal bug. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say that at 7 a.m. I started calling the neighbors to see who could take David to the hospital. Yes. It was that bad.

I had not barfed in 10 years, and that episode was a result of a night of ill-advised drinking of four two many kamikaze shots and probably three too many beers. Ugh. It still makes the stomach quiver. Or maybe that's just from today's lunch. My body just does not throw up easily, and boy, it made me suffer along for four hours before mercifully, it booted everything up and out and made me a new woman.

We're all still feeling icky (Sawyer and Sage had it Friday; Sawyer barfed again on Sunday and is still not eating and is acting lethargic) but hopefully it's all behind us (and BOY was there a lot of stuff behind us).

Run, Forrest, Run

I think even Forrest Gump, braces on his legs and all, ran faster than me. Slow does not begin to cover it. Glacial? Today, K, S and I did our long run in preparation for the 1/2 marathon. S ran one a couple weeks ago, and is not running the Pacific Shoreline, but joined us anyway. She didn't make it to running camp this week - just couldn't get herself up in the pitch black to go run in the cold. Anyway. Our goal was to go 10 miles. We ran the first four miles pretty much together. Then we turned around and came back, mostly uphill, and I could not keep up. I was barely moving, and I can't figure out why. Breathing? Form? Both? It was very sad. And frustrating to say the least. I caught back up right about 6 1/2. S was running faster than both of us by the end.

The good news is we finished the 10 miles. We averaged a 10:36 pace, finishing in 1:46. So conceivably, we'd finished the 1/2 in about 2:15. Or at least, I would. I'm sure K will be somewhere way ahead of me.

It could be worse, I guess - I could be home sitting on my ass!

Global Warming?

I think not.

Sluggo

Sawyer does a very distinctive poop dance. When the boy has to go, the poor kid looks like he's having some type of fit. He goes up on his toes. He straightens his arms and hunches his shoulders as he walks around the room. This performance goes on for some time. It often includes the emission of some loud (and sometimes silent) noises, which result in a small pungent cloud wafting through the room.

Now that he's potty trained, we try to grab him in the middle of his dance and throw him on the toilet. Most of the time he protests, saying he needs "more practice," and often it's a false alarm. Once in awhile it will be on its way out, poking into his underwear, so when he sits down on the pot, out it plops.

So when he started his ritual today, we went through the usual routine. Nothing. Then he had lunch and told David he had to go pee. But we knew better. So David sat him on the toilet.

About 10 minutes later, Sawyer is yelling at me to come in! Quick!

And there, sticking out of the water, is the Louisville Slugger of poops. This turd looked as if it should have come out of the butt of a 250-pound man, not from a 33-pound little boy! It was the kind of thing you wanted to take a picture of to show everybody. Anybody. Hey! Look what my kid did today!

Never mind who walked first, talked first, who knows their ABCs, 123s (in English and Spanish)- MY KID TAKES THE BIGGEST SHITS!!!!

We're so proud.

Cuckoo! Cuckoo!

Because I must be nuts. Insane. Perhaps even a glutton for punishment. This might be as fun as sticking raw spaghetti into my gums. And then gargling with extra chunky Prego.

My friend and I just signed up for the Pacific Shoreline Half-Marathon. That's right. 13.1 miles of hell (albeit, mostly flat and a good portion along the ocean).

I have never run that far in my life. Not even close, unless you count six miles. Which I don't. This race is in less than four weeks.

I am in panic mode.

The good news is I get a cool tee shirt. And that is something!

The Zoo

"See, Mommy? I TOLD you we'd see an ocelot at the zoo!"
"Yeah, buddy, you did.." Whaaa?

"Mommy, I want to swim with the fishes!"
"An admirable ambition, Buns."