...or, better known as the last unmarried thirty-something renter in Southie...
Monday, September 26, 2011
20-minute Monday: (Almost) 20 miles
The Man from San Francisco and I went to a party Saturday night where both hosts and many other folks were runners and, after a couple of home-brewed porters, we were all sharing the idiosyncracies of our Reach the Beach teams from last weekend and whatever it is we're training for now and how any run this weekend was bound to suck with the 180% humidity non-seasonal to Northeast Septembers, so I shared how earlier in the day I had powered through 18.5 of my 20.5 miles before first struggling through to 19 and then tanking and walking the last mile uphill into Southie while wringing out a tank top and shorts plastered like magnets to my stomach and thusly creating an honest-to-God trail of sweat puddles along West 3rd Street, and after I said this all the folks nodded sympathetically because, yeah, it did kinda suck to run on Saturday, but I had no sympathy for my lack of mental and physical stamina at 5 weeks to race time and am glad for a second shot at a 20 in 2 weeks when maybe October will be a little more distance-runner friendly, and also was not sorry for myself because I got to spend that last mile of walking knowing that the MSF was sleeping off his red-eye flight while waiting in my air conditioned apartment and that, once I returned and stretched and drank Powerade and showered and and found a dry shirt, we were going to vegetate in that AC in long-awaited companionship and, at least for me, a rare reward.
She rents an apartment in a neighborhood of trendy condos.
Her bike is vintage Raleigh. Her car is from 1991.
The cat's litter box is next to her bed and she doesn't own a dresser.
She likes to make fun of herself.
Occasionally she runs marathons.
And yes, she has to wear glasses. Contacts are not an option.