Two Thanksgivings, Two Runs, and a Story

Tonight I have survived, with an extra layer of blubber, my second of three thanksgiving meals.

Saturday was thanksgiving with the Gentleman's extended family, where I got my fix of the classics.  Sweet potatoes, green bean cream of mushroom soup casserole, pumpkin pie.

Today (Sunday) was Friends' Thanksgiving, which nowadays is Babies Thanksgiving, because I'm not exaggerating when I say there were 20 babies there.  I believe the Gentleman and I were the only ones who ate because we were the only ones with free hands to do so.  If I've learned one thing from my friends with babies, it's that they never eat because their hands are full of baby.

At Friends' Thanksgiving I discovered banana cream pie, which I don't believe I've ever had before.  I am a bigger fan and devourer of whipped cream than anyone you will ever meet, so this was pretty much the best pie I ever met.  That pie is 83% whipped cream.

Not my picture.  Mine had even more cream...

So much else happened this week to talk about! Good runs and bad runs, going mad for Hostess Twinkies (or in my case, Hostess Donettes), and getting mad at the Gentleman, for literally the first time ever, which sucked and I felt very bad about.

First, the week in running:

I ended up with 87 miles for the week, largely thanks to a 22 miler that was one of my top 3 most miserable runs in history.

There were good runs this week too.  After letting my legs recover from the half marathon last Sunday, I jumped into a track workout of 800m repeats and hoped I could hang on for 6 repeats....thought maybe if it was going well I could pull out 8.  Somehow it was just one of those easy days, and I comfortably finished 10 repeats, all in 2:55-2:59 pace.  A one lap or less jog recovery in between each (around 2:30 jog).

So that was a great confidence booster.

Then that horrible 22 miler.  Sucked all the confidence away.

It was scheduled by the nature gods to rain all weekend.  Therefore on Saturday, I committed to getting my long run in on the treadmill at my neighborhood Hot Fart gym to avoid three hours in the rain.  I've done 20+ miles on the treadmill before, and believe it or not I didn't hate it.  It goes by fast because I generally run much faster on the treadmill than I do when I am letting my mind wander outside.

The Hot Fart gym was indeed hot and muggy, and indeed fart scented.  I jumped on a treadmill after waiting for some farter to get off of one, and proceeded to zone out while watching "Old School" since my only other option was five channels of football.

I ran for an hour between 7.9 and 8.6 mph pace, alternating between staring outside and noticing the complete absence of rain, hating Old School for not being nearly as damn entertaining as I remembered, and getting a headache from the thick layer of other people's heat and sweat sticking to my skin.

After 8.25 miles in one hour, I decided there was no fucking way I was running another 13.75 miles in the gym while the clear cool skies taunted me outside.  I made a deal with myself that I would run home, drop of my gym gear, and head outside for the remaining miles.

Which is what I did.  I ran outside until I hit 22 miles.  But somehow the transition from running on a treadmill to running outside made my brain break.  Each mile was slow, miserable, and then more slow.    This was one of my two annual runs where I Hate Running.

Oh you know what else? Sir Buttcrease is back.  Not back in a mean way, but back.  I can feel him haunting my leg while I run.  I'm sure it's the speed work that I am bringing back.

So I left this week feeling comatose and fatty from two thanksgivings and not like someone who can run 26.2 miles in under 3:05.

Oh yeah, I also dug up some Run with the Jets Half Marathon photos.  They were mostly disappointing because I learned that despite my butt work, I still have no. butt. at all.

Curse you, genetics! 

Finish line

1st & 2nd place ladies

I have on good authority that butt cheeks are where gas is stored, so let's hear it for all my small butt ladies.  Really think about that one next time you see J-Lo or Nicki Minaj.

Yet! I wore a tight sweater dress to one of our thanksgiving events, and I demanded a picture after the Gentleman declared that it made me have a booty.

Much. Better.

The cute dress in all it's glory

Here's a story.

For days and weeks and months, since the time tickets went on sale in the summer, I have been very excited to see Louis C.K. in San Francisco at the Symphony Hall.

If you don't know who Louis C.K. is, which I am alarmed to learn is many people based on the zero people in my office who know who he is, I'm going to guess you actually do recognize him (picture, below).  The fact that he is a comedian who can play TWO nights with four shows total, SOLD OUT at a ginormous Symphony Hall should help explain how crazy adored his stand-up bits are.

Our tickets were calendared long, long ago.  We stared at our calendar in anticipation.  Thursday, November 15! The day has arrived! We scrambled out of work, grabbed a quick dinner in Hayes Valley, and walked to the Symphony.

As we were seated, an opener comedian had already begun his set.  We were in the very last seat of the ground level; not too bad.  It was impossible to pay attention to the opener because there was all sorts of commotion around us with other people trying to be seated by the ushers.

Then, a man leaned towards us and said, "we're in these seats."  We had seats 7 and 8, so the Gentleman asked to see his tickets.  They said seat 9 and 10, sorry guy, these are our seats.  But he had a group of four, claimed he has seats 7, 8, 9 and 10, and said "hey babe.  Babe, show him your ticket." To which babe responded, "unnm.  Hun, whatever, I don't know where it is.  You never gave it to me."

We were confused as to why and how they were claiming to have our seats, and then it seemed pretty clear they were lying for some unknown reason because their tickets weren't coming forth.

Finally, some more tickets did come forth, and indeed, these tickets said seats 7 and 8.  Shit?

We approached an usher, who shone his light on our tickets: 7 and 8.  Shone his lights on their tickets: 7 and 8.  He looked up at me and the Gentleman, and said: "your tickets are for yesterday."  SHIT.

My heart literally sank down to my stomach and then out of my vagina.  No, no no no no.  How could this be? We had this calendared for months!

But wait! Usher, save us please, help us! Can he help us? Yes, yes it seems like he can!

Usher: "This happens all the time.  Come with me, I'll take care of you."

So we followed him out of the seating hall, me thinking of happy visions of being scooted up to the extra best special seats that are reserved for emergencies.  We follow him all the way down the hallway, wonder where he's taking us? Hm this is strange, we seem to be headed towards.....

the exit.

He gave us a sad look, and then abandoned us, dumped outside like the non-ticket holders we were.

I was pretty much in shock.  This cannot be happening, there must be a solution, there must be a computer glitch, our tickets are for today!  It's on our calendar dammit, I know how calendars work!

We walked over to the guy at the ticket booth, where he was all alone because the show had started 15 minutes ago and everyone seeking last minute tickets had been turned away from the sold out show hours ago.

Please sir! help us!

No, sorry, you guys are idiots.  The show is completely sold out.  There's nothing I can do.

I dipped into the realization that we really were not getting in.  I went from not being able to focus at work all day, completely excited for Louis CK, to trying to get my brain to realize that I was not going to see Louis CK.

I wallowed over to a bench and alternately moped and got mad at the Gentleman who had purchased and been in charge of the tickets, and at myself for never once looking at the tickets.  This was the worst part of all.  I felt immediately regretful for not just giving him a hug and feeling sad together, and instead pointing the finger at him and acting like I was the only one whose plans were ruined.

10 minutes later we decided to find out if there was any chance the ticket guy could get us into the 10:00 p.m. show.  As the Gentleman approached him, he handed him two tickets, and in a voice that still sounded mad at us for being idiots, warned us, "this is on Louis!"

We ran inside with our shiny new tickets, and were sat in excellent amazing seats at 7:40 p.m..  We missed the opener, and as far as I could tell, about 10 minutes of Louis CK's set.

It was hard to transition into comedy mode after that.  I was feeling gross about getting upset.  But ultimately of course, Louis won us over and we had a fantastic time.  And then I tried to win the Gentleman over by apologizing ten times for being a brat.  (Even though, next time, I'm in charge of tickets!)