I complain, I bitch, I moan, and yes, there are tears, but here I am again, running.
[caption id="attachment_4290" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Snotty, Deborah, and Dan"][/caption]
We all learned from Zombieland that rule 1 is Cardio. Sadly, that skinny little zombie apocalypse survivor started out with taller, and shall we call them, more athletic genes. I spent Saturday internally hating genetics. I mentioned to Deborah my newly fueled hate was toward my short genetics and she said, "ah, the hate that lasts a lifetime."
This conversation happened during a 1/2 mile span. It's difficult to hate, talk, breath and run.
After the running, I got a massage! My massage school buddies were out fulfilling part of their Specialty Massage Class requirements! You should have seen the look of shock on their faces when they saw me. Oh, not because I was there, I'm always showing up unexpectedly. No, they were shocked because they thought I was running the full Kalamazoo Marathon.
Yeah, uh, no. 2 miles of sort of running is enough to make me cry, no marathon for me. As it turns out, without a shovel, I am zombie fodder.
As for knitting, I continue to do what I call knitting. You know, start something, work diligently on it for a week, then chuck it behind the chair.
Currently behind the chair is a baby sweater with no arms, a really short afghan (like a blanket, not a short person from Afghanistan) plus a super small start to the Chaos Swirls knit along shawl that the ZPDK have embarked on. I embarked too, but I'm currently using a life boat.