I chose not to scamper today. I was supposed to do 18 miles. After skipping last week’s 16, I really could have used the three-hours on my feet. It’s all investment in the mileage bank to pay off at the end of April. True to form, I’ve never shown up to a race overtrained.
Trying to be at peace with this choice. I enjoyed the yummy breakfast I had with Sonya. I am happy I could knit a bit and watch some TV. I find it freeing that we got grocery shopping and laundry done, so tomorrow’s day off can be super relaxing.
Will I curse this skipped run on marathon day? Nope. I’ll show up at the start with the training I have completed. Plus, the experience of a chill weekend. You can’t cram for a marathon. It is what it is.
I know it’s an end-of-the-night, last-minute, lazy post thing to do, but I haven’t set aside the time to type up deep thoughts.
That said, today we got the house in (a bit more) order: piles cleared, surfaces dusted, plants watered and topped off with soil, rug vacuumed dogs bathed, sheets washed and bed freshly made, last fall’s Iceland images off the camera, and my first scamper in a week. Progress.
Last night I stayed up past midnight, ironing dress shirts, both mine and his. It feels productive, useful and has a beginning and an end.
This morning I listened to this live version of a The xx’s song three or four times in a row (the first one). I may have posted it last year when it came out. I want to take a bath in the trembling desire it contains.
Wish I had a third point to make. (Pardon the non sequitur nature of this.) This will have to suffice: I’ve entertained the idea of road-tripping it up to Madrona in Tacoma this weekend. Probably won’t, but it’s might have been a kooky adventure.
With all of my thinking and listening to Dar Williams over the past few days, I wanted to share one of my favorites. This live recording of her song “February” gives you a snippet of her charming patter between songs.
When I first heard this song, I loved it for the storytelling, never imagining its ache would one day echo mine. (Ah, hindsight, and foolish youth.) Not a traditional love song, not a break-up song despite it being the subject, just a love-lost song with simple, painful metaphors that hit me like a truck. This is one of the reasons I earned my nickname at her shows of Sobbing Queer Boy.
Even if you aren’t in the Northeast and digging out of the snowstorm, here’s to warmth and surviving the longest-shortest, darkest and coldest month called February. Spring will come.