8 Miles – 80 minutes, right?

Pshew. Today? Everyone’s cranky. Not sure quite why, but everyone is.

Somehow, I get the yard mowed, Missy gets the boys in bed, and I start feeling guilty about skimping on my 8 miler that was scheduled yesterday. So I throw on the iPod, toss on the shoes, and hit the road. Goal was 80 minutes.

Made the goal. Watched the sun set. Watched the river turn to glass.Ran 2.3 miles straight up hill.

Good times.

Fruit Stand

So I get back from drill this afternoon. It’s a beautiful day (don’t let it slip away), and Missy and the boys are out back on the playscape. She says “Hey, watch the kids, I’m going to go run.” I say “Ouch, ouch, twist my arm… OK” and she’s off before I can stop the baby from drooling on my uniform.

Not so long later, she swings back in (as I’m pulling frozen pizza out of the oven – mmmm, Freschetta). I ask her how it went (’cause she’s usually a treadmiller – combination of the kids and growing up in Houston where running outside was only an option for like three days in February), and she’s beaming – she ran to the fruit stand on the Gold Star Highway. (Woah) I think. (That’s something to which I’d probably drive instead of walk. Plus, there’s a fierce hill, too – could even rule out the bike…)
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