It’s race day eve eve.
That’s two days before the first race, for those of you who forgot how holiday countdowns work. I should technically be sneaking out of the office to boogie across town and pick up my packet. We are THAT close to the race gun, folks. Packet pickup is open. But as for me? I’m still just floating along as if I didn’t just pay money to run ten miles on Sunday. (It never makes any sense when you put it THAT way . . . .)
I’m so thankful that I set my nutritional goal for this month based solely on mid-week alcohol consumption since (A) Friday’s don’t count as weekdays; (B) there are, therefore, zero weekdays between me and race day; and (C) there is officially no limit on the amount of empty garbage calories I can freely snag from countless other non-alcohol sources. To wit:
I stayed up late to clean house, make Pinterest cupcakes, and feed all thirty-four cats* so you KNOW that espresso blended with ice, milk, Crisco, and a Splenda was a must if anything was going to get done at work today. (*I have no cats. But didn’t that dovetail so nicely with cleaning house and baking on Thirsty Thursday?) Obviously when you skimp on sleep, you’ve got to step-up from coffee black to espresso, and more obvious still is that the only way to enjoy fine Italian coffee like a non-costal-dwelling American is to overrun it completely with sugar, milk, ice, and stretch pants. Oh, and please hold your questions about the OCTOBER goal of Better Bedtimes; Mom’s already one step ahead of you on that one. (Tonight mom. I swear. )
Once I got to work and dutifully doled out all the extra cupcakes, there was this one with no takers. That’s right, a lonely, forlorn, forgotten cupcake without any takers just growing stale in the break room. So you know what I did. I ate it. Because I felt bad for it.
I’ve suffered the attack by Caloric Coffee Bomb and Fat Cell Infiltrating Cupcake, all before lunch, even. Good grief.
At least there’s still time in the day to get to packet pickup . . . .