So, I was totally getting into a good running groove. I was going early in the morning just after the school drop off. I had run just under three miles and first time and just over three the second time. I was totally going 4 yesterday. and even though it’s disconcerting that my 8-year-old can run a 10-minute mile and it takes me, well, a shiteload longer than that because I run at 4.0 or 4.5mph, which I know isn’t all that fast, but I’m only 5’1 and my legs are short yo and I am just not built for running…and so I do what I can. But yesterday, after I hit the mile mark, my foot started burning, so I paused the treadmill to assess the situation and my stupid sauconys had shredded the back of my ankle. I mean, we are talking blood everywhere.

So, not ready to stop working out (I know, I really need to be given some sort of medal), I got on the stationary bike, which, for whatever reason was super comfy on my feet and I “biked” about 13 miles and felt frigging fantastic afterward.

Why did no one tell me that running SUCKS?

Maybe I need to ask for a bike for Chrismukah.

I mean, I get that running on a treadmill is probably better for your body that biking on a stationary bike. and that riding an ACTUAL bike is probably a lot harder then a stupid stationary bike…but after I run? I feel like barbecued death. After I biked? I felt good. I could have gone another 13 miles, I swear.

But today, since I was up all night with Isabella who decided that sleep was not necessary between the hours of 1:30am and 4:30am and since I have now moved on to the post-nasal drip of doom stage of TEH PLAGUE, I decided that I was taking an exercise break and was going to sit on my ass in front of my laptop and do things like, oh you know, WORK, and also watch old school 90210 episodes. I mean, today was a classic – – – Brenda’s Pajama Party where, you know, Cindy Walsh dances in the living room and Kelly tells her deep dark secret and Andrea wears the most embarrassing white granny nightgown.

No wonder no one liked her.

But my sitting on the couch plans were foiled when Indiana decided he could squeeze through the back fence and ohmigoodgod is that puppy fast because I full-on chased him for 3 entire blocks – uphill – and let’s just say that I was unpleased (whatever, I have officially made it a word)

Also unpleasing to me?

THE LADY IN TARGET WHO WAS WEARING THE HAREM PANTS.

I am calling shenanigans.

and I am blaming Gwen Stefani

Apparently, she didn’t get my “Gwen, can you please go out sporting Lululemon yoga pants and a smurfette tshirt and a Lucky Brand hoodie and maybe some Pumas?” memo because, you know, THAT LOOK? I can dig it!

now, I could totally crawl into bed right now but I have very important business to take care of. I have to practice pronouncing my new niece’s name correctly – it’s Eden Alyssa – but it’s pronounced like eh-din. And not like the Canadian “eh” but more like the “ed” in the word “bed.” I got to see her on skype which made me all ovary-tingly (don’t worry…my insides are place where no seed will find purchase) (heh) and eager to fly to Montreal just to squeeze that little thing…but not until I can stop calling her “ee-den.” OH, and also, I totally hijacked Slynnro’s and Metalia‘s weekly text-fest about The City and The Hills, and I’ve committed to watching these shows for the first time, and I’m sure to be a good contribution to the conversation…what with all the meds I’m hopped up on (nyquil. weeeee!) I wonder if anyone will be wearing harem pants.