Saturday morning in Chicago was (three words) snowy, overcast, cold.
It’s rare I run alone. I prefer to run with Meg… it’s a good chance for us to vent our man problems. It’s all very Sex and the City meets that Nike commercial with those two women running along a lakefront and there's a city skyline in the background. Was that Nike? No? Hmm… Unfortunately, on Saturday morning Meg was sick and unable to come outside and play. I convinced myself that, more than anything, I needed to get a run in… snow, cold, gray, nastiness, alone, miserable… no matter what. And besides, I could listen to my iPod and run to Britney Spears (if that’s not incentive, I don’t know what is). Come hell, high water, or blizzard-like conditions, I was going to run.
I told myself 20 minutes… just 20 minutes… and see how it goes. At 43 minutes I figured I might as well shoot for a nice round five mile run. Of course I didn’t exactly know how far I had done, and I knew I was going a bit slow – you know with the ankle high snow and all – so I figured one hour would suffice. Nevermind that I had to clean my apartment and myself, and attempt to look presentable before MM came over to pick me up in like an hour to go out to the suburb where he grew up so I could meet his mom for the very first time ever.
Me? Concerned? No. I was jamming to Britney bitch.
Self-indulgence? Or avoidance tactic?
I suppose we’ll never know.
So then what else?
Well, for the remainder of Saturday, when I wasn’t congratulating myself on my display of badassery, I was either a) attempting to get MM to shower me with praise for said badassery or b) attempting to get MM to explain why he thinks his mother liked me (other than because I’m fabulous and a bona fide badass, as displayed on Saturday morning when I ran five miles “blizzard-like” conditions). Why don’t boyfriends understand when one says, “Did so-and-so like me?” it actually means that they are to ask so-and-so, “Did you like Lou?” They are then to engage in a full-on conversation about all the things likable about yours truly, and report the convesation back ver-ba-tim like 100 times at least. Rinse. Repeat.
God. Women sometimes.
Did I mention that I finally registered for the Flying Pig Half Marathon in Cincinnati on May 4? Well. Now you know.