On Saturday I’m running my second Warrior Dash. Last year it was my first mud run ever and I spent a ridiculous amount of time feeling nervous and anxious about it, but then I ran a Super Spartan and the Warrior Dash’s 3.5 miles suddenly don’t seem so daunting. I’m excited for the chance to do it again though, to have a better idea of what to expect this time around, and to have the chance to improve my run time.
I don’t know what it is about mud runs and adventure racing that I love so much. I’m usually a pretty clean person, the type who can’t eat messy foods in a reasonable amount of time because I have to keep stopping and wiping off my face and fingers. I tend to not love dirt, although I did grow up making mud pies to entertain myself, but still. Coming off a race course, I don’t tend to mind the mud at all. It’s kind of nice actually, in a barn-scented sort of way.
The cats are thieves and even though I’ve been living with them for more than a year now, I still sometimes forget what awful thieving creatures they are the accidentally leave some spare keys to a friend’s houses on the dining table, only to come downstairs to find them all gone. I asked the cats, nicely, to bring the keys back, but cats are mostly useless, except for when it comes to stealing bits of shiny things, and so they both refused to help, opting instead to race up and down the stairs making awful chirping noises and begging to lick the cereal dust out of my cereal bowl, so I had to climb all around the house on my hands and knees looking under things and behind things and lifting up all the rugs until, mysteriously, the keys just reappeared in the middle of the foyer rug.
I really think they’re just fucking with me at this point.
On Sunday I fly out to California for another Toyota Women’s Influencer Network event, and while the details are still coming in, I’m ridiculously excited at the prospect of finally getting to meet so many of the other women in the group. There have been other group events, but none I’ve been able to attend and the Wanderlust adventure was just for a few of us and seeing as I’ve been in this group since its inception back in January and have only gotten to meet a small handful of the other women in the group, I’m really glad I’m finally getting the chance to meet so many of the other women all at one guaranteed-to-be-fabulous event. Fingers crossed I can get some mac & cheese in my face and cross California off my mac & cheese eating list.
I’m home just a day before heading south to Alabama after the California trip. The thing about where Andrew lives is that the airport there is very small and tiny and miniscule and so flights in and out tend to be on the very expensive side so this time I’m flying into Atlanta, renting a car and driving the four hours to his house, which sounds only mildly exhausting at this point and really, I think I can manage since it’s saving us something like $350. Also, I’ve been in the mood to drive lately, and a trek through the wilderness of Georgia and Alabama actually sounds kind of lovely. I’m sure I’ll get to hour three and start cursing the world, but for now, I’m going to keep these rose-colored glass on and pretend that the whole drive will be full of butterflies and triple rainbows.
My hatred of the Yorkie next door continues to grow. The first time I met this little dog, he humped my leg. Then, his owners didn’t have him on a leash and so, when I stepped outside with my very large and very furry husky mutts, that little shit came bounding across the yard all YAP YAP YAPPING about it and got right up in the faces of my sweet dogs and it took everything I had not to let the woofs just eat his stupid little Yorkie face. Now, he spends his days in the neighbor’s back yard and I can’t let my dogs outside for five minute without him barking about it. It’d be one thing if he just let out a few little yaps, but the tiny fucker won’t shut up. If my dogs are in the yard, minding their own business, going about their business, chewing on sticks and crunching acorns so the squirrels can’t have them, the Yorkie yaps the ENTIRE time, be it five minutes or twenty. The other day I had the window open, the Yorkie was in the back yard and Sadie ran through the living room, causing her dog tags to jiggle and the little fucker barked at THAT for five whole fucking minutes, sending me into a window slamming fit of rage.
I love dogs, I really do, but I hate that little Yorkie fuck.