One of those days where you feel like a starting gun went off instead of an alarm, and you feel like you should be wearing 80's terrycloth running shorts and a sweatband.
I really could use a crowd on the sidewalk, cheering me on and handing me glasses of ice cold chardonnay as I hobble on by, 18.5 miles into my 26-ish mile day.
This is the point in the race where I would be soaked in sweat, my mascara running down my face, my lipstick smeared and my bikini top ripped (oh, wait. wrong event. That's "foxy boxing", not running. Oops.)
Well, I'm pretty sure this is the point in my race where I would start bargaining with the gods of hurryupedness. "Give me more time! Give me the energy to not pee myself today. I haven't any time to go and I need a bladder of iron! Please, dear benevolent ones, grant me the power to get all the stuff done I should have done this weekend! Please!!! Let me not humiliate myself by finishing this race in the dark, long after they've pulled away the finish line and left me on the road with no one for company except the 89-year-old with not one, but two rebuilt hips. Please just let me get through this in a timely and calm manner and I promise I will leave clif bars and gatorade at your ceremonial altar. Please do this for me and I promise to try and think about being a more organized person. I promise! I'll really consider it this time!"
You know when you wake up and the first thing out of your mouth- while you're still in bed- is a whispered "Oh shit!" that, well...
gotta go- stuff to do, excuses to make, fires to put out, bullshit to deal with.
p.s.- if you can't remember the theme- here it is. You'll be humming it all day...