Last night I planned to run 5 miles.
What I actually did was down four beers, two chocolate milk shakes and a piece of delicious chocolate cream pie that I smashed a Reese’s peanut butter cup into because the bakery was out of the peanut butter chocolate pie I had actually wanted. I did all this while watching a great classic movie (The Princess Bride) on a couch overflowing with women similarly consuming alcoholic beverages with milk shakes and delicious chocolate cream pie (also with smashed Reese’s peanut butter cups because this sounded like a brilliant idea to all parties involved).
I’m not sure you can get any further from running five miles than that. Seriously, who does that? Oh, me. That’s right.
I’d say it was okay because I got up this morning and put the miles in, but I didn’t. Nope – I was still snuggled up under the covers long after my alarm had gone off, desperately trying to ignore the cold wet nose poking at me to take its elderly doggy owner out to potty.
But then I could say it’s okay because I will run tonight. That isn’t likely to happen either because I will be frantically trying to pack the truck with all the necessities of a weekend of traveling to not one but two separate trials with the terriers.
So then I could say I will run tomorrow and I might actually be telling the truth because oddly enough, despite the fact that a friend and I are traveling with no fewer than ten dogs, we actually have a surprisingly large amount of free time as well as access to hundreds of acres of orchards.
Yeah, I will run the five miles tomorrow.