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…)
After supper, it’s my turn to run. Yes, there were 8 on the schedule for today. But, I was going to take Jake to see the fireworks on the Thames, so I figured I’d squeeze in as many as I could. Ran to the fruit stand – yep, decently far away. Then meandered a bit to knock out about 6.4 in just over 54 minutes. I’m happy.
Headed down to watch the fireworks from the Groton side of the river at Fort Griswold (I’d make a Vacation joke, but I just read the previous link about f’n Benedict Arnold and am steaming). These are for Jeff –