My Knight in a Shining Black Maxima

First off - hi mom! thanks for becoming a (the) follower of my blog. my mom writes a really funny blog for her pug Paco, Paco's Pugtails.


Contrary to popular belief, not every 10.5+ mile run in the middle of the New England winter is easy breezy. Every now and then you wake up and know that that day is going to suck. Instead of heading out in a cloud of "i can do this!" you shove your feet into your sneakers and reluctantly bumble out the door. I had my first today-is-going-to-suck morning last saturday.

I tried my best to get excited and pump myself up, putting reggae on my ipod, wearing my favorite running outfit, and taking my camera with me to snap some on-the-run pics, but i knew i was in for it when, a good three minutes into my run, i had a flash of genius thinking i could just stop to "tie my shoe" and then by accident get knicked by a slow moving car's bumper and roll myself down Beacon Hill straight into Starbucks, treating my wounds with a iced coffee treat. I pictured a lot of Starbucks customers and employees circling around me, someone yelling "GET THIS GIRL AN ICED VENTI NON FAT NO WHIP 2 PUMP MOCHA ASAP! AND A CROISSANT!!" while others ran to create a fort for me with couch pillows and blankets from concerned neighbors, setting me up with a laptop and free wifi so i could sit in there for hours watching arrested development and its always sunny reruns drinking coffee on the house.

I had to shake that lavish and totally realistic day dream and go on. I persevered through Kenmore Square, past BU, Coolidge Corner, and finally into Newton Center before my emotional struggle turned into a physical one. Every now and then over the past couple months my foot has fallen victim to the plantar faciitious monster - an evil, unrelenting pain that can only be compared to the feeling of stepping on a rolly-ball mouse and doesn't go away if you ignore it.

So, at Newton Centre, I had to call it quits. Crying like a pathetic little girl, i asked the high school girls working at a nearby bakery named "Pie" (read: "Tortue for Runners without Wallets Dreaming About Coffee and Pastry Therapy") to use their phone so i could wake up my boyfriend and beg for his rescue. A little groggy and with limited enthusiasm, he answered my call for help and drove to Pie to save me - my knight in a shining black Maxima.

I got in the car and cried like a pathetic little girl, apologizing for making him come get me, and, through my tears announced like the emotion-eating female i am "im getting dunkin donuts because im sad."

So, moral of the story is:

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