Last night I left work at 5:30pm and ran the Esplanade. I ran fast. As fast as I could.
And it felt good.
I haven’t run in a while and I have no idea why. I expected to be slow, bogged down, pathetic, in pain. But I cranked “Lose Yourself” and found myself in flight. How I love my body in motion in running tights and a wife beater with my shmancy – technical – long – sleeved – wicking – fabric – everything – you – ever – wanted – in – a – running – shirt – shirt tied haphazardly around my waste. I don’t need that technical fabric! What are these long sleeves!?
Jockey wife beaters (in three packs!) may very well be the solution to all of life’s problems. Only time will tell.
I ran back to the office, changed into soft and stretchy yoga pants and cruised up into the Northwest for an hours worth of breathing and stretching and sweating like a madwoman. The sweat literally POURS off my body as I’m doing yoga. I have to put down a full-sized towel to prevent me from slipping off the mat. I have no idea what would happen if I actually tried the “hot” version. I fear permanent liquification.
Wouldn’t that suck?
“Wow, what finally did that crazy bitch in?”
“It was the yoga. She just dissolved and that was that.”
I was riding my yoga high as I stuffed my unsightly feet into big brown boots and stomped off down the street to my car. I made it to my shrink appointment with 4 minutes to spare and a head full of disgusting, sweaty, slightly-wavy, head-banded hair on my head.
I apologized for my appearance but I didn’t really mean it. I was just being polite.
We had a good session and when we were done I realized that I had not eaten since my two-tamale lunch. It was 9:30pm. I briefly considered gnawing off my right arm but then reconsidered noting that I would most likely need it in the near future. Instead I drove home and prayed all the way that Sam had saved some of his lunch leftovers for me.
“Oh please oh please let there be some of that mac and cheese left!” I sang along to Silversun Pickups “Kissing Families” with my heart open wide and a lump in my throat. I got angry when the song got angry and I got sad when the song got sad. I let it tug at my internal strings and I was home before I knew it – still starving. Still singing.
When I threw the front door open the house was aglow with candles, the front room was immaculate and my nostrils were filled with the smell of white truffle oil.
White truffle oil!
There was a big dish of fresh baked shells with white cheddar and truffle oil sitting on top of the stove, covered in foil. I grabbed a bowl to-go and found Sam downstairs in “the shop” wrapping his bars in a new shade that we like to call “Sixth Place Yellow”. I opened a bottle of wine that we picked out because it was named after a classic Italian frame builder (masi) and talked to him while he finished the tape job.
We slept like wee babies and woke up in the inky blackness of 5:15am to go meet Josh for a quick climb up Tabor and 2 cups of coffee at Stumptown.
Sam has promised me a punishing ascent of Lief Erickson Drive tonight. My instructions are as follows: “Just get on my wheel and try to hold it as long as you can. If you drop, get pissed off and find your way back. We’re going to suffer tonight.”
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