I don't wanna wait

I've enjoyed writing this little blog for awhile now, but of course I'm not in any way a professional, trained, or talented writer. Sometimes it's really hard for me to put things into words. I was randomly texting with my college roommate over the weekend, and I was finally able to nail down how I feel about my nephew, despite spending an entire post on the topic after he was born. I had to take a little stroll down memory lane to get there.

Except minus the romantic thing, obviously.

I should be embarrassed how long I spent browsing Dawnson's Creek images on Pinterest for this.

Clearly we were major Dawson's Creek fans in college. I figured that comparison would resonate with her because she (and I) met her husband during the series finale of the show. If I remember correctly, he wandered into our dorm suite from downstairs, and we were like "Hey there, random guy, why don't you sit down and shut the hell up because we're trying to watch here". Back then (this may shock my younger readers), we didn't have luxuries like "DVR" or "Hulu", and if you considered yourself a fan of a show, you had to actually commit to watching every episode in real time or you were completely screwed. Both your dating and social life had to take a backseat (although in college no social event begins until well after prime time television).

I'm forced to discuss amazing 90s TV because running and I are fighting this week. First of all, this happened. These pictures were taken of my back (where the waistband of my tights hit) Monday night. 

Usually chafing is a one and done for me - I suffer through one horrible shower and then it's all good. I don't know why this is still all red and, as Eric said, looks like someone slashed me with a knife.

The next problem is hardly worth whining about, since a good chunk of the country is dealing with the same or worse, but I'll go ahead and do it anyway. This weather is a joke.

Monday, I had ZERO motivation to run, but I forced myself to do 7 miles. Why? Because based on the forecast, it would be the only time all week that I'd be running in double digit temperatures.



Tuesday, I woke up to this.

I swear, it was the same 2.5 hours earlier when the alarm went off to run and I was like "oh hell no". I planned ahead and everything and had pretty much every piece of winter running gear I own set out, but I hadn't anticipated how warm and wonderful my bed would feel.

It was actually almost exactly the same when I finally ran at almost 6pm. I only had to do 5 miles, and even that was a mental challenge, even with tons of gear.

I had to break out the face mask for the first time, which in my head I call my Baklava, because it makes me laugh think of delicious pastry and gets my mind off the fact that I'm about to stupidly run when it's practically Antarctica instead. (It's really called a balaclava.) These are the types of pathetic head games Mother Nature is forcing me to play.

There's no point in bitching about the cold anymore, so what 90s show were you committed to enough to watch in real time? Believe it or not, I've never seen Beverly Hills 90210. Eric nearly left me when I revealed that.