We ran a whopping 11.2 miles on Sunday morning in preparation for the Vancouver half-marathon coming up this weekend (13 miles). It was a very painful run on Sun and I'm still suffering from it today. I'm still not totally over my cold, and we only ran 7 miles last weekend. Thank goodness it was gorgeous outside or I never could have done it. Plus my Studly Hubby cheered me on the whole way. Somehow he ran the whole 11.2 miles without complaint and then partied well into the night afterwards working on job applications. Not me, I passed out on the couch for a while, then went outside to look at all the weeds in the flowerbed, pulled a few up, then decided that was too hard and came back inside to the couch.
Right before I went to bed (at 8 pm) the Studly Hubby started talking puppies. No matter how tired a girl is, puppies will always get her excited. I couldn't get to sleep after that due to the various puggles and cockapoos floating about my head. I ended up reading a really sad book to try to calm me down: Peace Like a River by Leif Enger (this month's book club book). It's a very beautiful book, but full of very sad things. At least so far. Why aren't there more funny authors out there? Is it that there is a small audience for funny books, or is it just too hard to write funny (and easier instead to write sad)? I have low tolerance for sad subject matter, but I must read this book so I can go to book club and discuss with everyone how sad it was. And eat the amazing treats that are given out there.