Some days, you should think twice about getting out of bed

I am waiting for an elevator with soapy hair. This guy also waiting for the elevator assures me that there's a gym in the basement and that I can rinse my hair off there. The doors open and he still has his face turned toward me, talking merrily about the gym as he steps into the elevator--and tumbles headlong down the elevator shaft. The doors somehow opened even though there was no elevator car there. There is a blood-curdling scream followed by a sickening thud. A nicely dressed older lady standing next to me screams right through her hand over her mouth, her blue eyes wide, as she peeks across the threshold. I am so stunned that I can't make a sound.

And then my alarm goes off.

This is not what you would call a good start to the day.

The outside of my right knee hurts as I roll out of bed, wobbly and bleary-eyed from too little sleep.

Strike two.

I have a dog show today, and then I am scheduled to run four miles. Emphasis on "scheduled."

Breakfast at the one local place that's actually open at 7 AM on a Sunday morning consists of dietary hell: scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast, and coffee. Not a fruit or vegetable or whole-grain anything in sight. It was still tasty. I tell myself I'll eat better later in the day.

The dog show goes well. It's a team tournament, with seven teams of two dogs each, and even though it doesn't officially count for anything other than bragging rights and some small prizes, there's always that little part of you that really wants to win.

After three events, with two left to go, my team is in first place, no thanks to me. I had one cringingly bad run, one somewhat flawed run, and one good run. My brilliant partner aced all three.

Lunch is pizza and Coke. More dietary awfulness.

Fortunately, I don't have any more jaw-droppingly bad runs, my partner continues to rock like a rocking thing, and we win the tournament!

It is great to win, of course, but I am tired and my knee is aching again and even though it's a beautiful day, I am starting to have serious doubts about my ability to run four miles on pavement. "Maybe I'll do the elliptical instead," I say out loud. "Might be the smart thing to do."

We get milkshakes on the way home to celebrate our grand victory. My chocolate milkshake tastes utterly delightful, but nutritionally speaking? Yeah, another complete miss.

I come home and walk the dogs, traipsing around through slushy piles of yuck for an hour while trying not to slip and break an ankle in the process. I am sore from my lower back to the bottom of my right foot by the time I get back.

Any thoughts of going to the gym fly right out the window at this point. We need to go grocery shopping if we ever want to see another vitamin in our house, so I reluctantly agree to go. I end up sitting on the bench at the front of the grocery store because I just don't want to walk around any more. It hurts. I am sore and I just want to go home and veg on the couch and watch a movie.

There are leftovers for dinner. Guess what? More pizza! I decide I might as well just give up on nutrition at this point and grab a beer.


And that it is time to stop whining and ice the darn knee already. (If anyone can identify the movie I'm watching from that shot, I will be REALLY impressed.)

Can I call myself a real runner now? All I have to say is, thank God tomorrow is a rest day!!