I am losing it, people. My brain is slowly turning into something you would see here.
Friday, I went to a surprise birthday party with the full intention with only staying an hour and being home by 7:30 p.m., because I was running a 10 miler the next morning. When I walked in there it was...an open bar. Shit. My second intention was to only have one drink. But every time my drink was empty another would magically appear in my hands. I knew it was time to go when I started doing the booty dance.
Next morning I drag my hungover ass out of bed and head to the parkway. My friend, Shannon, was not sympathetic to my cause and actually, I do believe, was amused by my pain, but she was great the entire run. Letting me stop (a lot) for water breaks. It didn't get really rough until mile 7. At that point the pounding on my head matched that of my feet hitting the pavement.
After the run, I went home to stuff my face, drink a gallon of water and take a 2 hour nap. Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh....naaaaaps.
Next day was my swim class that I have been taking for the past six weeks. But today, it was like it was the first class. Why? Because I showed up 30 motherfuc*ing minutes late. Why? Because I had it in my head it was at 9:30 a.m. I'VE BEEN TAKING THIS CLASS FOR SIX WEEKS. What is wrong with me?!
I stroll in and walk by the windows to the pool. See people in the pool and think "hey, I wonder what class that is" Insert blonde joke here. Head to the locker room and now I am getting the sense something is wrong. Where is everyone?! It hits me. That was MY class.
Now. There is NO way to go into class without everyone -- even the coach -- not noticing that you are 30 minutes late! Literally I slink in --eyes downcast -- tail tucked between my legs -- take my shirt off -- and high tail it to a lane. They were 30 minutes into class and working on something -- still don't know what. I jump in and start swimming like a mad woman with each stroke saying to myself -- idiot -- idiot-idiot and finally got in a nice rhythm. Who knew self- deprecating could be a training technique.
Here comes blonde moment #866 for the day. In the locker room I am standing there in my bra looking for my shirt. Where the hell is my shirt? Oh. I wore it out to the pool. It is sitting on the bench. S.H.I.T. Really?! What the hell is wrong with me.
I went home and went back to bed.