Posts Tagged ‘North Capitol St.’

Girrrrrl, We Got to TALK.


WEATHER: 82 with 542% humidity at SIX A.M., YOU GUYS.

MILES: 5.5

MILES THIS WEEK: 27.5

WHERE TO: Howard U. reservoir, Northeast, etc.

MOOD: Wet.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

OMG, you guys!  So much to tell you all!  It has been FOREVER!  Go get your latte and settle in, because we got to get REAL with each other, sister, and just dish.  Here.  I’ll go first:

1) Registration for the JFK 50-miler started on the first of July, which I just realized yesterday.  My marathon times strangely enough qualify me for guaranteed entry, so I should just do it, right?  <shiver> <squirm>  I should.  I mean, yes, it’s $150, but that’s sort of smart of those wily race organizers, making sure you put your money where your blackened-big-toenail is up-front, because who is going to back out of a $150 race?

I know what you’re thinking:

“You might.  …Back out, I mean.”

No, I won’t.

“Are you crazy?”

Stop asking me that.

“Are these race organizers ridiculously old-school, requiring an actual paper form sent via mail with a paper check and even an SASE, even though no one even knows what an SASE is anymore?”

They sure are.  …Ridiculously old-school, I mean.

“Your legs look particularly ravishing today.”

Don’t I know it.

2) Vignette from my Saturday long run, at ca. mile 15.  I’m standing by the Jefferson Memorial, slammajamming a neon-green-flavored Gatorade, when a man and his family step off a Japanese tour bus.

Man: <looks me up and down, particularly my blindingly white and not terribly attractive but nevertheless bare stomach>

Me: <chug gulp slobber gulp dribble>

Man: <turns to family> <gestures at me> <LOUD STRING OF UNINTELLIGIBLE JAPANESE SYLLABLES>

Family: <loud laughter>

Me: <slightly more abashed> <swig gulp gulp> <scamper away>

I have the distinct feeling that I got majorly zinged.

3) New tattoo!  I won’t tell you where it is, but I will say it’s small, discreet, in a place that my sports bra covers, and it’s not my right bosom or left bosom.

Well.  That was fun.  And now, off to start my next post, as suggested by the Paki on the Ask a Runner! page.  See?  I do take suggestions.  But only non-stupid ones.

Dirty Little Secrets


WEATHER: 35?

MILES: Yeah…about that…

MILES THIS WEEK: 47.5

MILES THIS MONTH: 105

WHERE TO: Down N. Capitol St., around the Capitol Building, down the Mall, back home.

MOOD: Grumpy — cold coming on, knee injury coming back.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:

Dirty Dancing

Come 'ere, lover. We gotta talk.

Alright, readers.  We’ve known each other a while — you know a bit about me, I’ve shared my life and dreams with you, you’ve let me feel you up a few times.  Things are good.

But, baby, sit down.  It’s time we talked.  See, I haven’t been entirely…honest about a few things.  I know every day I give you my mile count, show you my dedication, tell you how my day went…

…but OK.  I’m just gonna say it: I don’t actually know the distance I’ve run on any given day.  To be honest, I just sort of guess. <knits fingers together, twists them nervously>  Now, now, don’t look at me that way.  I think I’ve been overestimating!  Like, I run for 45 minutes and I write it down as 5 miles, but you and I both know it’s more than that.  Because, <heh>, when was the last time I needed 45 minutes to-

Aw, hey.  Don’t do that.  Take your pants back off.  Come on.  I can ‘splain.  Oh, for the love of God.  Get back here.  How am I supposed to know distances in DC? I never told you I WAS measuring, anyhow.  I didn’t lie!  I mean, yeah, I could go to some sort of distance-plotting site, but it takes so long and ruins the mood, and it just FEELS better this way, you know?

Oh, hey.  Hey.  It’s gonna be OK.  We’re still gonna do this marathon together, you and me, and it’s gonna be great.  Now you know.  And aren’t you glad I was honest?

Do you still respect me?

<reaches out, touches your face tenderly>

C’mon.  C’mere.  Yeah.  That’s it.

<wraps arms around you, buries face in your neck, comforted>

Good.  OK.  Because I have a few other things to add.  Really minor.  Just general confessions.  Like I have several times relieved myself in non-port-a-potty places in DC.  And I did it all the time in Minneapolis, too.

There.  That feels better.  Oh and also while I’m confessing I stole a few energy gels from your sock drawer when you weren’t looking but they were the gross orange kind you like the least anyway and I pee in the shower sometimes but it goes all to the same place anyway and I spat in your leftover chili that one time when I was mad at you for leaving your goddamn hairs all over the bathroom sink again and I drew some really filthy pictures in the margins of your Bible and oh once or OK a few times I ateyourReddiWhipfromThanksgivingstraightfromthecanintomymouth andthecanhasbeeninthefridgeeversincebutyoudon’tseemtonotice.

I feel better.  Now.  Show me your hoo-hah.

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