All Things Shoe (Plus One Party)

• My shoe broke on the way into work today. I waffle between “Hooray! Now I get to buy a new pair of shoes!” to “Boo. I liked those shoes.” Anyway, at the moment I am shoeless, and everyone is laughing at me.
• Speaking of buying new shoes, I’m getting some new running shoes this weekend. Buying new running shoes is great. They make the run feel like a skip through the clouds instead of a slog through the swamp. We call them “a necessary investment in RG’s knees,” especially as I’m about to kick up my training for my upcoming half marathon.
• Speaking of half marathon – the one I was going to do? That I got online to register for today? It’s the day after I stay up all night walking for Relay for Life. I’m glad I didn’t pay the registration fee yet! So I’m doing one a little later on, in early November. Gives me plenty of time to train.
• Speaking of training – last week I got a free little twenty minute session with a personal trainer at my gym. He introduced me to squats and lunges, which I’ve managed to avoid up until this point in my life, but now feel are necessary so I can officially feel like I’m officially training for this official race I’m about to do. And it was officially painful. Holy freaking cow. I had myself thinking I was in pretty good shape, especially my legs, given my daily lunchtime run. Nope. Not in good shape. Weak. Pitiful. And limping all weekend. I go back to the gym today. Shudder.
• Speaking of the weekend, we had a great time down in the Profressor’s hometown this weekend at a little party known as Anderson Fest. The hometown boys had a memorable party in the summer of 1995, when they were all finishing high school and feeling fine (at Evan Anderson’s house, hence the name). They’ve reprised the party now that we’re all 30 and feeling old. We may go to work and pay mortgages, but we can still muster up the energy to stay up past 2am at least once a year! We eat smoked chicken and pork that cooks all day under the deck. We play flip cup and beer pong. We float in the lake with fun noodles and plastic cups of beer. We build a bonfire. We defy time. Yes, we are still young, hale, and hearty. This year the first member of the next generation of hometownies attended. Sam Whitfield, one year old, toddled around on the deck of the boat while his dad nursed a beer and us childless women smothered him with hugs. He was incontrovertible proof that we are not actually still 18 years old, but pretty cute so we let him come anyway.

Back to work. Hope your weekends were great! Wish me happy shoeing!