So. Running? Did not go well yesterday. I feel like I’m completely justified in whining about the 16 mph winds, 20 mph gusts and -4 wind chill.
The plan was to do something in the vicinity of eight miles. I knew how cold it was out there, but I still optimistically took my shot bloks and hand-held with the idea that I was going out on a longish run. As it happened, I turned around at 2.5 for a grand total of five.ridiculous.slow.excruciating.awkward.miles.
I was actually pretty warm, relatively speaking. I had on the ear-headband thingy, gloves, jacket AND sleeves, insulated pants and a face warmy thing that annoyed me more than anything else. (I kind of hate those things. I mean, right? If I cover my face with it, my sunglasses fog up, or it eventually gets damp from my breath and then freezes into a hard mask. Or, I just feel like I’m being smothered. Garr.)
So it wasn’t the cold so much as the wind. My GOD, the wind. I felt like it was exhausting every fiber of my being just to move forward. I was pulling an 11:00 pace with a 9:00 effort.
And I’m not trolling for sympathy here, people. Don’t want your praise or your encouragement. What I do want is for you to call me a big fat dork for canceling my gym membership. I could have been running indoors on a treadmill while watching football with closed captioning today like reasonable folks. But nooooooooo.
So, as with everything, I have no one to blame but myself. And as the wise and worldly @weavr told me when I was whining about it, “quit hating on winter for being winter. Start hating on the city of Indianapolis, God and yourself.”
Well played, sir.
And now, your requisite holiday tree-decorating photos…
Here’s my lesser half, about to pull a Chevy Chase:
Every since I was a little bitty drinker with a running problem, I have hated decorating for the holidays. Just ask my mom. She’d have to coerce me and my dad to help trim the tree. And in my adult life, I’m sorry to say I have not matured in the least.
Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy celebrating. I just don’t like the prep work. If I could pay a kid to come do it, believe me, I would.
That said, I procrastinated as long as I possibly could before braving the cold again to go out to the shed and begrudgingly help Mr. CTT haul in our fake tree and our box o’ Christmas paraphernalia.
I should note we do have a pretty dope tree– all the lights are already on it, so there is one task we don’t have to worry about: unraveling the tangled ball of lights after haphazardly cramming it back into the box at the end of the previous season.
Anyway. We cozied up, put on Elf, shared some of our favorite dysfunctional holiday memories, and it actually turned out to be a pretty nice time.
My husband did accidentally break the head off of the baby jesus while unpacking the nativity. We’re thinking of gluing an Ozzy head on in it’s place.
Even Wrigley showed up to grace us with her almighty presence.
And that’s pretty much where she’ll stay until New Years. For some reason, she is enamored with the tree. The warmfs? The twinklies? Who knows. And with the exception of one unfortunate incident in her first year of life that left her dangling upside down from the upper branches, she does not try to climb up inside of it.
What is your least favorite holiday tradition?