So after I had finally recovered from the mystery bug enough to gingerly sip some wine on the patio with the family Saturday night, I was brutally attacked by a swarm of mosquitoes. I have 11 bites on my left foot. Eight on my right. A cluster of three or four on the bottom of my right ass cheek, and about a dozen others scattered over my arms and legs. It’s like I laid down in a goddamn nest.
So I ran seven itchy miles yesterday, still feeling all depleted and queasy from the mystery bug that my sister-in-law explained is probably due to eating food contaminated with shit or touching someone who just touched shit. That is…super helpful. Luckily Princess Chunk didn’t catch the shit virus from us and is at the moment happily napping away in her crib.
It was my intention to do 10 miles, but at mile 4, I knew it wasn’t going to happen and my NEW PLAN was to just get home without barfing. I did 5.5 outside and then ran into the gym to try and finish up on the treadmill, but that wasn’t agreeing with me either so I just went the fuck home, still rather pleased with myself for the effort.
It was too ambitious of me to think I could do a long run after hardly eating or drinking anything the day before. But I’m not quite in serious, serious training mode yet so I’ve got plenty of time. And I still managed to do almost 25 miles last week, which is pretty fantastic for me.
Oh, and I got chased by a fucking labradoodle. For whatever reason, the only dogs that ever chase me are the fluffy adorable kind. I think it has a lot to do with the type of people who have labradoodles. Stupid, pretentious, lots of money to buy designer hybrid dogs, never bother to consider whether they know anything about dogs.
Other than that, things are fine. But if I see any locusts, I will probably go ape shit.