Tenacity

JB has accused me of being the sort of person who holds grudges, but much like the many other things he has been wrong about which I have never forgotten ever, he’s way off base on this one. I’m sure eventually I will forgive him for interrupting the one single morning of sleeping in available to me out of, well, my ENTIRE LIFE, practically, by coming in on Sunday and announcing that his parents were packing up so I’d better get dressed and come out and say goodbye, and when I did get up—at 7:30 AM, mind you—his father blared “Well good MORNING, Princess!’ from where he was stationed on the couch and JB’s mother tittered appreciatively because ha ha ha get it, I’m a lazy WHORE, one who cooked and cleaned and did about fifty trillion loads of dishes by myself while they were visiting, thank you very much, and then they didn’t leave for like an hour and a half and instead of enjoying my one chance at relaxing in bed I was picking up the kitchen because god forbid any adult in my house be capable of putting their goddamned coffee cup in the sink. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be rolling that little situation around in my head like a Caramel of Resentment for months on end, or anything. Or, you know, spending the next several years researching undetectable toxins which can be applied to a coffee cup handle and absorbed through the skin as part of my master plan to eventually exact my revenge long past the point when I would be a immediate suspect.

Grudge-holder. I am SO sure.

Other than what shall be forever known as JB’s Grievous Error, it was a fine weekend at our house. The children were thrilled to have their grandparents around and I was thrilled that their grandparents seem to have inexhaustible resources when it comes to reading books and putting puzzles together. Dylan is particularly besotted with those Priddy picture books which are nothing but carefully photo-masked images of objects on various blank backgrounds and I am here to tell you that the millionth “reading” of My Big Animal Book is enough to drive a person right out of their aching skull. Go ahead and call me Princess all you want—as long as you’re on tap for Priddy duty, I can take it.

I did my long run on Saturday, just under 13 miles. When I first committed to this half marathon I couldn’t begin to imagine running that far, and it’s still kind of hard to believe I can run it now. These past few months of training have been amazing in a lot of ways. It’s been hard physically; it’s been much, much harder mentally, and I’ve grown so much stronger as a result. My legs, sure, but more importantly, in my head and heart. My first reaction to considering a half marathon was a loud and clamoring I CAN’T; I feel like I’ve taken aim and blown that shit away. Pow. And now I know, like really know deep down in my bones, that it’s in me to push through, to keep going when things are hard, to not give up.

Goddamn, I like that feeling.

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