Ugh.

I don’t know why my training schedule for the half-marathon is such a bitch to me. For some reason, I have personified it and instead of the personality of a sweet cheerleader-type, it has the personality of a crotchety Catholic nun. I’m not Catholic, but my friend Alle did take me to Catechism a couple of times where I learned my very painful and blistery fate as a child of hell. So in my mind my training schedule looks and sounds like a chunky bitch of a Catechism teacher who is continually reminding me of the painful and blistery fate that awaits me on the day of the half-marathon if I don’t take part in all of the sacraments, er, training runs. I don’t know why I don’t give it the persona of, say, my mom. It would be lots easier if my training schedule drank a lot and ignored me and reminded me every fall about how it was homecoming queen 40 years ago. At least then I would probably be trying to win its affection by over-achieving. But I guess then I would realize that it really doesn’t want me to achieve and it even resents me for trying, so then I would just drop out of the race in hopes that it would love me and then, well, then there’s therapy. *sigh*

Fun stuff: We’re going to West Virginia Thursday for my brother’s wedding and I’m very excited about that because I love him and I love his soon-to-be wife and I love their children. Most of all, I love making fun of West Virginians and I reckon I can get me some chuckles iff’n I go to the five-and-dime and just listen a spell.