If last week was all sunshine and springy rainbows, this week was a blob of dirty snow that kept getting picked up, turned around and dropped on the side of the road again.
My birthday was on Monday, which (as always) coincides with the first day of spring. Rarely has it actually been ‘spring’ on the 20th of March, even in Charleston where spring is typically most of the winter. There was one infamous year in my early, early youth where I was supposed to have some family friend’s pony come round to trot a bunch of preschool girls around our country front yard that was thwarted when Mother Nature dropped feet of snow a few days before. The failed Pony Party (turned traumatizing Clown Party) was actually probably the largest (if only) real party I had – the third week also falls (very helpfully) over either standardised testing week or spring break, and I spent most of the birthdays I can remember either quiet at my desk with those No. 2 pencils or on a ski lift on some mountain.
Last year I was staying in a tiny Airbnb apartment in a garage in San Francisco, after having spent several days living out of some crummy hotel in the Tenderloin with my IKEA bag of random clothes and possessions. The night before, someone broke into the garage and stole my bike (the other thing I had), and while thank god I didn’t actually open the door to the little room into the garage when I heard something going on, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt more dejected than when I did eventually open it in daylight and process my current situation. On the day itself, I ran some trail half marathon and then drove back and forth to Rockridge twice to get screamed at a table in the Peet’s on the corner. On the plus side, after that week things started to finally take on some semblance of ‘normalcy’, although that is an extremely relative term. Airbnb also bought me a new bike, which was super nice of them… but it probably would’ve been a BFD if I was murdered during some home invasion though, so I think they were more than happy to oblige.
Anyway, this year was a giant cluster of its own sorts, thanks to being on-call for work, a totally failed attempt for Alex and I to break out of the house and venture to a coffee shop for the morning and numerous other small, insignificant but gigantically annoying things. I tried to salvage it by turning my supposed to be 3-hour trail adventure into a run from N* to Moody’s for dinner and a glass of vino, but running on 267 into darkness and drizzle is not quite the same. I then acquired some form of food poisoning (or have some major stomach issue still going on that’s tied to running long distances) and spent the remainder of the night and next day violently throwing up. Fun. Times.
At least like all days, birthdays are arbitrary marking points of a year, and there are plenty of other standout dates from the past year that have had much more standout anniversaries that I can also celebrate or cry about.
Alex and I did also try to rectify it (again) and went to see Beauty and the Beast on Tuesday night, and I’m fairly sure both of us sobbed quietly throughout and then very, very audibly at the end. So. Good.
I’ve been behind on reading (though not terribly), which I’m blaming on #life and #busyness and #workingtwojobs, but also on losing my reading groove mentally. I’d decided to listen to an audiobook during my longer runs in the last week of February/early March to try to help pass the time and have picked Finding Libbie by Deanna Lynn Sletton, some random title on Kindle Unlimited. It was an extremely detailed, and extremely close-to-home detailing of the rise and slow, tedious breakdown of a young marriage due to mental illness that was so well-captured it had my heart actually hurting and turned me off to wanting to dive immediately into another world when I did eventually finish. I’ve been enjoying this whole audio thing for runs, but I’ve found that I’ve started associating parts of the story with locations I’ve run through, which is a bit unsettling. I’d listened to Serial in Charleston a few years ago, and I still have vivid flashbacks to running through the rain along East Bay Street that align with parts of the story. Anyway, I’ve got another one on the go which is a smidge lighter but less captivating.
I did, however, read another one yesterday afternoon, The Butterfly Garden by Dot Hutchison, that was an incredibly dark tale that dove deep psychologically and kept me engrossed and unsettled in a totally different way (… and wondering how people come up with this stuff to write).
I think I might reread the Harry Potter books next for a change of pace, or if anyone has some suggestions for reads that are less likely to send me into some perilous thought spiral, please share.
I feel like there was a lot that actually went on this week, but it’s all mashed together into a hodgepodge of various types of tempo or hill runs in various types of cold weather, children with colored helmet covers and cookie breaks, and PagerDuty simultaneous calls/texts/emails.
I also did have off on Saturday, and so I managed to make it to Reno to spend two hours running on REAL DIRT, but my legs and body were generally just exhausted, and I cut it short by an hour because there was too much else I wanted/needed to get done in this rare chunk of ‘free time’ that I just couldn’t hack it.
My running mojo was just off this week, probably because I subconsciously just really, really want to get my bike out now that I have a front wheel again 🙂 But alas, it’s supposed to snow tomorrow.
Can someone please explain to me how March is almost over, and then please explain to me why April is already completely jam-packed (hopefully with fun?).