Giblet hangover

Yesterday was wonderful.

I didn't get to sleep until about 2am -- I kept realizing I had something else to pack up, or put together, or toss in the car, or mix, or blend... and when I finally did get to bed, I was hyper-nervous about the race in the morning.

I got up at 7 (OK, I got up at 3, 4:30, 5:50, 6:30, and 7 -- like I said, nervous about the Turkey Trot), got dressed, and headed out. It was disgusting - raining hard, 36 degrees or so. I got to the race start, and, like everyone else, sheltered under the awnings of nearby buildings, stamping my feet and trying to stay warm. By the start of the race, at 9:00, the rain had tapered off, and the weather was actually pretty decent. I ran 4.97 miles in about 46 minutes, which was much faster than I'd thought possible, It was *great*.


After the run, I came home and showered, then Sonya and I went to Thanksgiving dinner at Lorna's, where Lorna and her mom had prepared dinner for twelve ... despite there only being five of us there for most of the day. We ate, we talked, we watched some of Miracle on 34th St., we ate, we talked, we played with Lorna's wonderfully sweet dog, we ate... At some point, I gave up trying to keep track of food. In terms of "the wagon", I did not fall off the wagon. I made a well-executed three-and-a-half dive in the pike position off of the wagon, deep into sweet, delicious apple pie.

This morning, the scale was expectedly bad to me. But it's OK. I knew I was going to indulge on Thanksgiving; I enjo;yed the hell out of it, and now I'm going to wipe the metaphorical pie from my face and clamber back on the wagon. The only thing I need to decide at this point is whether 25F is too cold to run.