So, as good as Friday was, Saturday may have been better. Wake up, the wife makes her specialty French Toast (whole wheat cranberry-pecan loaf dredged in cinnamon-vanilla egg mixture, served with some real maple syrup), the boys and I putz around in the yard for a while, and about 10, Missy says “Hey, before you take a shower, why don’t you wash the dog?”
I say, “OK, but why don’t I run first?”
She says “Sure!”
I think “Man, I got the better end of those wedding vows…”
So, I lace up the sneaks, head up the hill through the neighborhood, and enjoy the absolute best Saturday morning run probably ever. Head down Cow Hill Road, bypassing the part of the hill that finally got Warren, and just kind of cruise down to the river. All cylinders are firing, the run is pure – no iPod, no watch, no heart rate. Not much better than this at all.
The cyclists pass me, head down, elbows pulled in, feet churning, and, for once, I’m not envious of them. Something’s snapped inside, I think I may be a runner after all (chances are more likely that it’s just that I’ve hit Mach-S and couldn’t be bothered with envy.
But everything was Holiday Weekend Perfect – after the foggy run yesterday, the sun was blazing, the humidity was up around 90%, and everything was set to get me in the mood for summer. 5.3 miles, pretty reasonable time (I’m guessing about 40 minutes based on the clocks in the house). Not sure if it’s the shoes or what, but for some reason, the body’s clicking. And the scale – after French Toast and the run – told me I was at 165, which I haven’t seen since September or October.
Oh, and in the continuing story of the T-Ball team, practice today was absolutely outstanding. Started off a little inauspiciously – only about 2/3 of the team showed up, which isn’t surprising given the holiday. Warm-up catch and the fielding drills were only middling, but when we plopped the kids out in the field and started hitting and fielding, something clicked, and the boys were digging it. No fights for the ball today at all, the kids were starting to back each other up, and there were a couple of cases where the ball actually got lodged in the mitt to count as a catch.