It’s not March. It can’t be.
I wore shorts and tank top yesterday. And I sat outside on the beautiful Vines on Clark patio with this girl and enjoyed a couple of these:
As a result, I also now have a weird sunburn on my face. A small price to pay for unseseasonably warm weather and my favorite beer in the whole wide world.
As you probably know, it was St. Patrick’s Day last weekend. Which is pretty much Chicago’s number one holiday. Debauchery ensued. I participated responsibly. Don’t act so surprised – I’m capable of behaving myself. With a little effort.
The weekend was not all sun and booze, I fit my scheduled runs in as well. I’d love to tell you the running gods were with me and I logged 10 awesome miles on Saturday. But alas, the running gods were not with me – I suspect they were downtown waiting to get into The Kerryman – and I could only manage a measly seven.
What also happened were three ugly miles today. I mean, ugly.
So, I made a decision about this:
Call me a quitter if you must, but I’m dropping down to the 10K. And here’s why: I know I can probably complete the half – I think we’ve covered the whole stubborn pride thing – but I shouldn’t. I haven’t built a good base and haven’t logged an adequate number of long runs. Running 13.1 in two weeks would be the perfect recipe for an injury.
And the that’s the last thing I need.
In other news, this is quite a big week: The Hunger Games movie comes out this week – and I’m beyond excited.
Also, Don Draper and the whole Mad Men crew return on Sunday.
Finally. Who’s watching with me?!
And lastly this weekend is also the Shamrock Shuffle – which I’ll be running with my sister. She’s been training hardcore and – as much as she’d like to pretend she’s not – has transformed into a real-life runner. Welcome to the club, Emily.
Now all I have to do is make it through the work week…