Okay. First. Word has gotten back to me (yes, Lala is my source. Never her tell her anything. She doesn't keep secrets.) that apparently my blogs of late have been very boring because of all this "running crap."
The Mainstay complained that I give too much blow by blow (read he is jealous because I can finish my races). Pookie just thinks it is boring (read: she is jealous because her older, prettier sister runs faster and farther than she can) and Lala didn't say specifically what Colby's beef was but his name was thrown in the mix (read: he just wants to be a part of the family. Seriously, Cheese man you are picking the wrong sibling to side with. I am the clear favorite. I am the executor.)
So yes, today's post is another boring running post. But to liven things up a bit I've incorporated a poem with some complimentary pictures.
Next, before I show you the pictures and you judge me on how I've let things go I want you to know that there was a time when I had a regular prank caller who totally had the hots for my feet.
I use to have good looking feet.
Now, I have no idea who this person is and he hasn't called me since probably my senior year in high school but for several years he was a regular caller at my house. He would call and in a breathy voice and say " Are you wearing shoes?"
And I say "Yes."
Then he would say, "Take them off!"
And I would ask, "Why?"
And he would say, "Cause I want to lick your feet!"
And then he would hang up.
Sure sometimes the conversation would go a bit deeper as to the type of shoe or sock I was wearing and if my feet were clean or dirty but he would always tell me, before he hung up, that he wanted to lick my feet.
Wanna know why?
Cause my feet? My feet were hot.
But you know it has been oh . . . geez . . . a few years and you know you get pregnant and run while you are pregnant and then take up marathoning and before you know it the old feet aren't what they use to be.
I admit it.
I have let the feet go.
But, just so you know, there was a time.
A time when my feet were so hot I had strange men calling my house at all hours telling me they want to lick my feet.
It is true.
Okay. Now to my little ditty. I'm sure you've heard it before. It is called This Little Piggy.
This Little Piggy went to market yesterday and bought new running shoes because the others had over 300 miles and were starting to make her legs very miserable. That little piggy also cleaned her house, folded some laundry, and made the kids do all their homework yesterday. She did that . . .
So this Little Piggy could stay home after her long run today and write a boring post about her long run. She also invited playdates over for her kids and fed them chocolate cake and sent them outside so they would run themselves ragged so she could write her boring blog post in peace. Magic. Really, it is a gift.
And guess what this little Piggy is having for dinner?
That's right pot roast.
This little piggy was sad yesterday because I bailed on my long run (I did run 7 miles to test out the new shoes.) and didn't make the pot roast. So he had none. No long run. No pot roast.
And this little piggy?
Well, this little piggy cried wee wee wee for 23.56 miles today!!!! The new shoes made the sticks feel so happy that I tacked on an extra 2 miles. Boring details: Three hours, nineteen minutes, 8:27 pace. Temp at start 74 degrees. 82 at finish. Nothing to report. It was just a great run.
Oh and the piglets? Well this little piglet, while I was downstairs drawing on my toes and taking pictures of them was upstairs doing a little drawing of his own.
And yes. His friend also got a mustache. I am sure is mom is going to be so happy with me. She is on her way over now so I need to go put socks on so I can tell her I have no idea where they got the bright idea to draw all over themselves.
It is a gift. Really.