Walk, Doña Ana, Walk!

I'm up early (for me) because I want to get some exercise at the lake this morning. Of course, one could just go walk at the lake any old hour of the day--why get up early on a Saturday? Well, there's racewalking at 8am. Either the sense of community or the sense of competition should be enough to keep me coming back.

After using my running gloves in the garden last weekend, I forgot to bring them in and wash them. Last night I dreamt I found my pair of white wool running gloves. (In real life, I have no white wool running gloves). This greatly relieved my anxiety.

(I also dreamt of a new Harry Potter movie which showed the homoerotics between Harry and Ron. I remember being surprised it hadn't caused more controversy.)

My running shoes are thickly crusted with dried mud, as a result of the same little bit of yardwork. There's a brand new pair of shoes sitting in a box in my study (right next to my chair, right this minute) trying to tempt me, but I have sworn to mail them back, because I would be ever so much happier with a 9.5, which will give my toes room for their inevitable swelling.

I'm swiping one of L*s hoodies for the morning. I traded mine to doña Leora after the Turkey Trot. Hers didn't fit her right and I was pretty sure it would fit L*, and mine had the embroidered logo from my previous employer. Of course, I have not yet replaced it. (sigh)

Perhaps this the appropriate time to remind myself that if I were in Ohio right now, it would be 22 degrees, but feel like 10, and that weather forecast for the week varies between cloudy and mostly cloudy, with a pretty good chance of snow every day.

I'm hoping the exercise will pull me out of my pms/pre-birthday funk. I'm very good at feeling sorry for myself this week. (what have I got to complain about?) I'm turning the big 4-0, and consequently feel that I will never again be cute. Does this make sense? I was so excited when I was turning 30. of course, that was ten years ago.