And it started like this..
Up at 4am to head to the local track for my mile repeats. I'm thinking, sweet, hit the HS track about a mile and a half from the house, perfect warm up, cool down, 3 x 1 mile repeats and the shit is in the bag. Um, no one told ME that the track was under construction. Sonofabitch. OK, not prepared or willing to do my long run, so I just 'run around' to get some mileage in, home, lift Grandma up out of her slumber to get her to pee. Do YOU know how hard it is to wake up and lift a 65lb Boxer out of a dead sleep? Crap, fine, she's pissed at me, I'm just pissed, period. Carry her sorry ass down the steps, she pees, outside, that is. Fine, fine, then she won't eat. It's like having a geriatric ward in my house. After no breakfast, she just stands at the foot of the steps looking up. This is my sign to haul her ass back up stairs since I'm the bitch that woke her up in the first place. Boost her up, Grannie is back in bed, happy.
Work is work but work was about 11-12 hours on Monday, adding to my less than stellar, all around cheery mood. Thankfully, the only thing I had to be pissed about was missing my swim and having to get on a bike trainer at 4:15am on Tuesday. Yeah, another long day ahead and I freak when I start missing workouts. I rarely miss more than one in any given week. It freaks me out.
At some point in all of THESE good times, RH asks - is this why you run, race, do tris? Do you do this for your mom? Yeah, I suppose I do. I'm forever looking for her to say she's proud of me. We didn't have enough time and she didn't get to see me married or race or anything. So, that's the only way I can explain all of this, I do it for her and hope that I make her proud. Hell, it's cheaper than therapy.