Today was a pretty good day. I attended a successful FRG steering committee meeting, had sushi with my awesome friend and co-leader, signed up for another race, and trashed my Mossimo capris.
The big news in there: I registered for the Marine Corps Marathon! By 11 minutes after registration opened, I had my receipt.
My good friend Kim is all registered, too. She thinks she’ll only make it through half the race. She’s incorrect on that point; I am fully confident in her ability to gut through tough times. She’ll finish the whole thing. I have faith in her. (no pressure or anything, there, Kim.) Gerri is also going to finish. Uh-huh! Gerri is going to register as a charity runner and Kim and I will help her fund raise. Uh-huh! And then Gerri and Kim and I will skip happily to the finish line!
That last part, the part about skipping and happily, probably won’t happen. The finish line part, yes. The happy skipping: not so much.
The biggest news of my day: I shrank (shrunk? help me out, Celeste.) out of a pair of denim Mossimo capris from le Tarjaaayy. You know this brand. You probably love/hate it. This is the brand that will label their sizes and laugh at you. I bought them a year ago. “size 15”.
What. Eh. Ver.
More like size “ha-ha! Tubby! You thought you’d get to wear cute clothes but we totally mislabeled this just to see you cry and swear in frustration when you get them home because we know you have three kids and can’t possibly try anything on before you buy it!”
I have no idea what size those pants really are. I don’t care. Because today they are size “ha-ha! Mean pants! You’re going to the donation bin because I’m tired of you falling off me all day and sagging in the butt region! Be gone, droopies!”
…except now I am seriously running low on clothes. I have a closet full of running shoes and sports bras and technical t-shirts and cute running skirts. I’m afraid to look at the actual number of pants that I don’t have any more. The good news is that I’ve kept all the city shorts from years past, so as long as I don’t have to look like a responsible adult, I’m good to go.
Bataan is just a couple of weeks away. To say that I’m excited about this marathon is a grotesque and pitiful understatement! I got permission to wear the PT shirt from The Husband’s unit, I got my super cool head-wrap thing from Toy, I got my on-sale pink Oakley’s that I bought at Ft Sam a hundred years ago, I got my ….
Oh. I should probably get a hotel. And a plane ticket.