Yesterday morning, I did something I swore I would never do: the Galloway run-walk.
I’ve always been sort of an elitist a-hole when it comes to running. Walking doesn’t count. And, I know, I know, I am a sucky runner by most standards. But in my mind, jogging at a 11:00 pace is still more noble than walking. Or run-walking. This weird hybrid just did not exist (to me, anyway) when I took up running (poorly) back in the 90s. (Race-walking, however, is epicballsauce).
But yesterday, while temps were already in the 70s by 9 a.m., I did a 3:1 run-walk for three miles, and I sort of loved it.
You see, I have no air. I’m sharing mine with the fetus and the fetus is a big fat air-hog. Nobody ever told me in addition to getting fat and feeling queasy any time you’re not stuffing your face with Betty Crocker bacon and ranch pasta salad, you’ll also not be able to breathe. (It’ll get really fun in the third trimester when its feet and bony butt are shoving my lungs and diaphragm up into my throat.)
Anyway, run-walking. I made peace with it. For now.
Another first: I dreamed I was drinking a beer. And doing shots. I sort of panicked in the dream as I realized I was killing my baby. But not like you’d panic in real life. More like, Oh, whoops. And then I moved on.
Anyway, I thought you might like to know what TEH HUBZ has been drinking…
Friday night we met some friends at 3 Pints, a brewery that just opened last year. They served a decent variety of local guest brews until they got their own operation underway last month. (Dear 3 Pints: UPDATE YOUR WEBSITE, DAMN YOU! Love, Marie)
We’ve been here several times and love the food and, ahem, TEH HUBZ says the beer is good too.
Last time we were there, he had the IPA; this time they had an American Pale Ale on tap in its place. It had a nice coppery, red color and smelled sweet and floral. He said it was just slightly less hoppy than the IPA.
I wanted to ask him to elaborate on the specific flavors he was getting from the beer, but I probably would have gotten the eye-roll at that point, so I let it go.
I drank a delicious iced tea blended with lemonade. It was a rich gold color and tasted strongly of iced tea blended with lemonade.
Then yesterday, we hit up the jazz brunch at Zydeco’s in Mooresville. They have great live music and some of the best Cajun food you can get north of Louisiana. (Actually, our buddy Tyler who lived in New Orleans swears it is just as good.)
Guy Fieri also approves:
Anyhoozles, our friend Jess is preggo too, so I wasn’t the only one who didn’t get to have a mind-blowing Bloody Mary. Which was nice.
See all the pepper and junk floating around in there? That means its made for special with lots of love.
I drank orange juice. It was orange and it tasted like orange juice.
I did find something else to occupy me…
Blackened catfish and jambalaya. ::Drool::
Thankfully, I never lost my appetite for spicy food.
Dear PETA: It was for a good cause...I look awesome here.
Cheaper Than Therapy 
“I drank a delicious iced tea blended with lemonade. It was a rich gold color and tasted strongly of iced tea blended with lemonade.”
Hahahahahahahaha. Damn that Bloody Mary looks good.
When I was told that I couldn’t drink for a while (because of DRUGS), I used to dream about beer. I used to dream specifically about frat parties. Warm beer. Warm natty light. And me drinking it and loving it.
ORANGE JUICE TASTES LIKE ORANGES?!
I can’t help but think of Willy Wonka – “the schnozberries taste like schnozberries!”
Hold your breath
Make a wish
Count to three
Come with me
And you’ll be
In a world of
Pure imagination
“You see, I have no air. I’m sharing mine with the fetus and the fetus is a big fat air-hog.”
Now don’t get me wrong, I love your blog, but I don’t see why this would be a problem. I was under the impression that you already gave up air SEVERAL months ago. Perhaps you haven’t been entirely honest with your readers.
BUSTED.
This is why I’ll never be big-time. I got tangled in my own web of deceit.
I guess now I’ll have to post some incredibly sanctimonious fake non-apology which actually makes it appear that you just don’t understand me and this is all your fault, somehow.
“Another first: I dreamed I was drinking a beer. And doing shots. I sort of panicked in the dream as I realized I was killing my baby. But not like you’d panic in real life. More like, Oh, whoops. And then I moved on.”
I lost count of how many times I had this same exact dream since getting knocked up but it’s with red wine instead of beer. In fact, I’ve been afraid to tell people how often I’ve had this dream for fear that they will figure out what an alcoholic I am.
I read your post about that and I cracked up, thinking, “oh, that sounds like something I’d do.”
New blog reader. I’m glad Angry Runner tweets you all the time! Congratulations on still loving spicy foods. My damn kids ruined spicy foods for me. And I’m Asian. It’s not freaking right!
Hey, thanks!!
…I hear she tweets EVERYONE.
Just found your blog ~ Love it! Thanks for warning me about the breathing thing. That’s just one more reason for me to put off breeding. 🙂 Good luck with the run/walking.
Haaahaha! No one is going to want kids after reading my blog!!
Good for making peace with the run-walk… If you can’t breathe, it’s probably for the best. ;p
Run/Walk? Having a kid? I cannot handle all of this change.
I drive by 3 Pints every day on my way home from work. I will have to check them out!
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