my goodness...

you people are actually reading this thing.

I better become a better writer and write more interesting stuff.

At the moment the best I've got is "this salad is bitter."

Not exactly the stuff of classic literature.

Work has been hectic and stressful and slightly unnerving. I'm supposed to KNOW a lot. OK, I DO know a lot...but I don't know how everything works here and that's unnerving. But so far so good. And I'm only making 9 mistakes a week now, instead of 27.

Running has been interesting. My imaginary friend Glenn is coaching me to prep for the Madison relay. Everyone has a lot more faith in my abilities than I do, but like work, so far so good. I've been getting in my runs fairly successfully or at least completely. But yesterday's run wasn't good. It wasn't even just ok. It was just bad. My head wasn't in it. My heart wasn't in it. I was fighting myself to keep from crying and fighting myself to start crying just to let it out. Instead my heart hung low in my belly and thoughts weighed heavily on my shoulders. I couldn't get into a rhythm. My legs were heavy and tired.

I am always my own worst enemy. Well me and that skinny assed fast girl with the blonde pony tail and pink shorts who went zipping by me and completely and utterly sucked out of me whatever minute speck of enthusiasm I had left.

I would never be her. I wasn't her when I was her age, and now I'm 20 years older, 60lbs heavier and twice her pace. She was like discouragement in a lithe young package.

At least the beach was pretty. I ran to the beach.

that's Wollaston Beach. It's a Boston Harbor Beach. It's not the prettiest beach around...but I'm still exceedingly lucky that I can run outside in May and in 15 mins (8 for you speedy folks) be standing with my feet in the sand and the smell of salt water and marsh grass in my nostrils.

As much as I make it out to be otherwise, life ain't all bad.