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Death by Slurpee or Mary Poppins

Running

The best I could muster last week, a week during which I felt too sleep-deprived to push out a good speed workout, was 3x1 mile on Thursday morning.  Even though this felt pretty miserable, and I would have prefer to work harder for 4x1 mile or 5x1 mile, I was happy that my legs were behaving my demands to pick up the speed even when I really, really didn't feel like it.

5:57; 5:49; 5:51 (one lap jog in between).

A week of no (or almost no) speed work meant a week full of slower miles.  This in turn meant I falsely believed that I didn't need to take a day off of running, since all the runs were on the easier side.  I ran 12-13 miles/day on Tuesday through Friday, then 18 miles on Saturday, and found myself with a very tired and sore calf muscle on Sunday.

Monday and Friday are the days I typically do not run.  I didn't take Friday off, and now I shall pay.  I think the calf needs a day or two off and a little massaging, and will be fine.

And if you're keeping tabs, I caught up on sleep over the weekend.  Big time. 

Disappointingly, nobody takes pictures of me while I sleep adorably, so this image will do.

11 hours of sleep into Saturday, 10 hours of sleep into Sunday.  I can't think of anything more delicious than sleeping in.  Oh how I love sleeping in!!  I always thought adults outgrew this.  I can't recall ever seeing my parents wake up after 7:00 a.m.  While I haven't slept in past 10:30 a.m. in at least a decade, which I like to think is some proof that I have exited teenager-hood, I very very rarely wake up before 8:00 a.m. naturally.  Of course, 21 hours of sleep in 2 days put my sleep-meter at capacity, so the insomnia was back Sunday night.

Another thing I love besides sleeping in? Slurpee's.

My Ode to the Slurpee:

I have been dreaming of Slurpee's all Summer.  I went to bed Saturday night, excited to wake up the next day so I could get a Slurpee.

I love walking into a 7-11 and finding the flavor choices.  No two 7-11's are alike! The best flavor I ever had was in March of 2008 in Laguna Beach.  I think it was tangerine-mango.  I will never forget it.

To satisfy my craving, on Sunday we walked to one of the two 7-11's that are within 1 mile of our apartment (the rumors about California are true, there are 7-11's on every block) and I decided to forego my usual choice of the smaller Slurpee cup.  I went big.  I got the XXXXXLarge, whatever it was.  Practically the size of a gallon of milk.

I got the size on the right.  Plus 5 inches squeezed into the round lid area.

I happily chugged my Slurpee, so content to be quenching my thirst.  Then with about 1/8th left in the ginormous cup, I realized I wasn't so thirsty anymore, and was actually feeling pretty ill.  I proceeded to get a headache and stomachache, and tried to find a corner in Trader Joe's where I could take a nap.  Walking home from TJ's with groceries and a stomach full of 87 ounces of Slurpee was just about the hardest workout I have ever had.

While sprawled in a chair before committing to the walk home, the Gentleman tried to teach me a lesson through allegory in which he explained that I would be the worst kind of drug addict, because when I like something I tend to think the best solution is to imbibe the greatest amount possible of it.  It was then that I vowed to never get a Slurpee bigger than a size normal-human-stomach ever again.  And not to try cocaine.

Olympic Observations:

In no particular order:

1) Many of the women swimmers sound to me like they are deaf during their post-race interview.  Not to pick on deaf-person voices.  They're kind of endearing, in an Andre the Giant sort of way.

2) The women gymnasts give each other bitch-hugs right after they finish a performance.  Bend forward at the hips, barely touch shoulders, stiff pat on the back, and then walk away thinking, "I hope she gets fat."



3) Post-performance interviews are. the. worst.  Drinking game: one drink every time an athlete says "at the end of the day," or "gave it my best," or "did what I had to do."  I'm going to give a gold medal to the athlete who has the most genuine and unscripted interview, which will probably be Michael Phelps.  Have you noticed?  He gives the best interview answers, because they seem like something that ran out of his brain, rather than something pre-approved by a Public Relations person.  Go Phelps!

4) Speaking of Phelps.  His media-manufactured rival, Ryan Lochte, seems like the a world class douche.  Just a couple tiers below Kalon from the Bachelorette, Donald Trump, Charlie Sheen, etc.  While he's not quite on that level, have you seen his Mariah Carey-esque closet of shoes?  Or his hella smug grin?  Cocky diva.  Something about him gives me the shudders.

You love swimming, wearing a grill, and shopping for expensive bright shoes? We have nothing in common.


Nope.  Also not working for me.  Source.

5a) The Olympic opening ceremony.  No joke, the Gentleman and I spent two hours looking at the television, looking back at each other, and asking "WHAT is happening!? WHY are we watching this!? Ohhhhh the horror.  The horror."  Really, the ultimate point of horror was when I realized it had been 45 minutes of watching nurses dancing and children bouncing on hospital beds, and that I could no longer remember a time in my life that was free of dancing nurses.  Mary Poppins, save us from the dancing nurses!!

Save us Mary Poppins! Save us Tom Cruise!


5b) The best part of the opening ceremony, for me personally, was when Mr. Bean dreamt he was in Chariots of Fire and he tripped the lead running stud.  I exclaimed, "too soon, Mr. Bean, too soon....Mary Decker Slaney", and that is my favorite inside-blog-reference-joke of the week.

Is anyone not watching the Olympics? It must be awkward at the water cooler for you.  I'm personally burnt out already.