So we're two weeks into my 5k training program, Eddie and I. So far it hasn't killed me. (Can't speak for Eddie.)
I have a friend who is ridiculously excited about this whole thing on my behalf. This woman willingly signs up for marathons and triathlons and I'm limping along trying to jog for two minutes at a stretch so Eddie doesn't suck my brains out of my ears. (He's discussed this potentiality with me.)
"Have you gotten runner's high yet?" she asks me.
"Runner's high? Is that when I say, 'Frack, I'm glad that's over with,' and then I go home and have a beer?"
"Hmm. No, then."
Needless to say, I haven't embraced this new hobby whole-heartedly. But I'm still at it.
I got a promotion a couple of weeks ago and I'm finding the weight of my new responsibilities sobering.
I'm off to meet my kid's sixth grade teacher tomorrow. We technically met at orientation night, but that was before classes had begun. Tomorrow we meet for parent-teacher conferences, so shit gets real, as they say.
It's almost a reasonable temperature outside again, pumpkins are popping up on porches, and here we go again, head-first into another fall.
Everybody watch your step. Eddie says he dropped an eyeball around here somewhere.