And you thought last week’s mileage sucked? Oh, hun! I got that shit BEAT!

You ready fer dis? Try 17.5 miles! Aaaaannnnnddd….. 3.87 of them were kayaking.

Yeah. It was bad. This week. Running. Bad. BAD.

I haven’t been stretching, either. Le hamstring feels like a damn guitar string wound too tight.

It’s hot. Hot as balls. Like, over 100 degrees hot. Thank the freon gods, our AC is in sparkling working order now. But trying to pull my ass out of the bed and be out the door when the temperature is still habitable is not working. It’s just pissing me off. I set my alarm. I wake up when the alarm goes off. And that’s about as successful as I have been. I’m not even conscious. At all. All I know is that I wake up on the couch some 2 hours later.

Had to have Andrew at a dentist appointment by 9 AM Thursday. And I was PISSED about it all fucking day. By 10:00 last night, I was miserable and exhausted and still bitching about having to get up. In fact, I think the last words I uttered last night probably had to do with being pissed about having to get up for a stupid dentist appointment. Seriously.

I know, I know! Trust me. I know. It’s petty. It’s ridiculous. It’s annoying as fuck. I’m a huge, gigantic WIENER.

And I KNOW I’ve gained at least 10 pounds since I quit smoking. I think my ass has its own gravitational pull, yo. For reals.

Oh…OH….You wanna know what ELSE?? I’m having hot flashes. What the FUCK is that shit all about?

And on top of THAT??!! In two days, I am going to be the mother of a 17-year-old PERSON. You like how I put the typical blogger narcissistic bent on that statement, don’t you? As in, “I am going to be the mother of a 17-year-old.” Instead of, “Jake’s birthday is on Sunday.” Dude. That’s how old I was when I got married. Fuck me.

But you wanna know the truth? I’m not ready to let my baby go. But I am SO DAMN EXCITED to see what he does with the world once it is in his hands. He’s really that kind of kid.

Anyway. I’ve clearly lost my funny. My blog posts have been quite droll of late. Silly rants and ticking off my list of mundane goings on. Nothing exciting. Nothing funny. No witty sarcasm or life lessons. Just my weak ass inability to tolerate million-degree temps, my shameful mileage, my fat ass, impending perimenopause, with an empty nest cherry on top.

Next week’s running goal: 25 miles with 5 running days and 2 rest days. It sure as hell ain’t my best. But at least I’ll reclaim some dignity. Stretch, run, sweat, sing, run, sweat, giggle, run, SING!