being the half-marathon on Saturday and a marathon on Sunday, all through Disney parks, with the added challenge of dodging massive numbers of the Purple Menace, all of whom have synchronized their watches for their run-walk program so that they all come to a screeching halt right in front of you as you’re attempting to run, such that you keep crashing into them and falling flailing into a ditch. Not that I’ve ever done that of course.
The other problem is that my strict running regiment peaked on oh, about June 21st or so, give or take, and it’s been a long taper since then. Granted, I have been doing my usual Ramping Up, so I figured I’d give the whole thing a shot – but that was before I checked the weather forecast for Orlando for this upcoming week. Excuse me, the fucking weather forecast. Because as usual, the temperature in FL is inversely proportional to my arrival. So right now the temperature is dropping, and by this Saturday? 29 flipping degrees in the morning. No, wait, 29 was the forecast when I checked earlier today. I just checked it again – now it’s 28 flipping degrees. That means it’ll be 28 when these races start, because they all start at 5AM so that they can clear us out of the parks before the masses of humanity
show up at the gates, clamoring for their motorized carts and funnel cakes with 10 scoops of ice cream on top. And god forbid we should stand in their way.So back to this 28 degrees. Have I noted here before that Miss Tasha does NOT do cold? I believe I have. And have I mentioned that I put “cold” as, say, 62 degrees? I think so. So can we guess what the chances are that come Saturday, this brisk, freezing-my-ass-off Saturday, Miss Tasha will still be snugly ensconced in her warm hotel room, debating at what time she should go scare herself up a waffle in the shape of Mickey? Umm, yeah. No contest there.
Speaking of travel, given that the Rackotomy is scheduled for January 18th (hint: bon-bons), which would be two weeks from today (or Fannie May, they have great chocolate too), I kind of wanted to take Foob with me to Florida (chocolate speeds the healing process, I’ve been told), to test him out in the real world, so to speak (January 18th). The real world being the land of halter tops.......layered under several sweaters and a parka. Now, I was going to tuck Foob into my bra as usual – and let me remind us all that Foob is also known around these parts as Sack-o-Flour – and then had a vision of this little scenario playing out at security. Namely, me bundled up like the Michelin Man, wearing the FC hat, still with the sunglasses on thanks to FBE, with a plastic bag half full of flour tucked into my bra. Hmm. This does give me momentary pause. And yet...?
2 comments:
Go for it. As porous as security is these days you should be able to waltz right through. And I do mean waltz. Like the actual dance. Or cha-cha. Your choice.
Yep, bag O flour foobage is def in these days. :-)
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