It happened. And not in a planned out, carefully structured kinda way, but in a whirlwind turned snowball-rolling-downhill turned Abominable-Snowman-on-crack kinda way.
Yesterday was The day, as we all know. Jerritt and I do not celebrate The day because I dislike the decapitated flowers, mystery boxed chocolates and scary animatronic baby animals. Also, the commercialization, the cards that could have been trees, the unwarranted expectations…oh, you don’t want to hear the full rant. So when I got home, it was any normal day, except for the fact that Lucy & Leo’s, our favorite Tallahassee cupcakery, was having special flavors in celebration of the-day-that-shall-not-be-named.
This was all preceded by a semi-flex on Sunday night where I indulged in a beautiful little petit four-sized cake bite and an even more precious cakey chocolate cookie. So you can imagine that the Sugar Monster was well awake and had been jostled out of his hidey-hole.
And that was preceded by an ankle injury Sunday morning which followed the same routine of my previous ankle injuries. Here’s how that went down: pleasant running (even for 20 degree weather)…root…ankle roll…popping sounds…pain…cursing the root…cursing the heavens…then cancelling all my workouts for the week (which you know causes me more pain than the ankle thing). Since that unfortunate event, I have been on a strict regiment of rest, ice, Aleve and elevation. There’s already much improvement but I’ve got everything crossed that by taking this week completely off my feet, I will be able to resume running this weekend.
With those two precursors to the-day-that-we-do-not-celebrate, Jerritt and I debated for about 10 minutes whether or not we wanted to go to Lucy & Leo’s and have a non-special day cupcake. Oh, I think you know what was decided.
I had one perfect strawberry shortcake cupcake with whipped icing which was warm, fluffy and just the right amount of sweet. And a cakeball. In serious discussion about whether or not I should have another cupcake, I threw it all in the air and said we should have pizza for dinner. That’s right, I said pizza.
One Momo’s gift certificate had been burning a hole in our pocket since Christmas and it was going to be this fateful night that we handed it in. My rationalization was since I didn’t have to do any training the next day, feeling like crap from the flex wouldn’t affect my workout. Feeling a little sick (but extremely happy) from the cupcake, I devoured a greek salad (half of which was feta cheese) and my half of a medium pizza. I believe I commented no fewer than 15 times how delicious it was, how much the crust had improved and how much I loved grain products. Standing up afterward was another story; I had made myself drunk on pizza. I can see the disbelief in your face. But, listen to my symptoms: I couldn’t see straight, walk straight, felt a little like I was going to pass out, and was pretty giddy.
This morning, I felt the slight effects of a hangover. Dry mouth, headache, puffy face, fuzzy feeling all over and something like 20% regret and doubt but 80% sure I had had a good time the night before.
Now that that is out of the way, I can focus again on all things non-cupcake and I’m happy to be back on the paleo track. It was a set back for my digestive system, but a cleansing for my mind. Dawn, you were totally right.
P.S. I guess this is as good a time as any to also mention that I bugged out of the New Mexico 50K. The expense was too great and I had to step up and do the fiscally responsible thing. Sometimes being a real adult sucks.
The good news is that I found a race just outside of Tallahassee and am now registered for a closer, hotter 50K.
The bad news is that it is more than a month ahead of my New Mexico training schedule. Meaning, I will not be trained for the complete distance and will have to gut out the other five miles. Yahoo.