I spent the weekend in Atlanta with the other bridesmaids in our friend Ami's wedding. I haven't been to the ATL in years, and never for more than about 18 hours or the occasional layover at the airport. Each time I return to the south, I'm filled with incredible longing for the comfort food of my childhood - fried chicken and biscuits, pie, okra, cornbread. But each time I enter a public place and am confronted with the, "smoking or non?" question, I'm pulled screaming back into 1985, seriously shocked that people are still allowed to smoke in public places and that they actually DO. I haven't gone home with my hair smelling like smoke since I stopped clubbing in grad school, and I was really okay with that.
But enough about smoking.
I had a really fantastic long run while in the ATL. Seven quiet miles in and around Buckhead, up and down some really nice hills and two really ferocious ones that had me begging for mercy. But I think I've really turned a corner. When I got home yesterday, I went straight to work (suitcase in tow) and worked till 5, caught the train, and went to the gym for my cross-training time on the bike. I'm not saying I'm a master at this, but I think I've convinced my body that it's okay to run when on vacation and it's okay to go to the gym even when you were on an airplane for the morning and then put in some hours at work because you will feel better when it's done. That said, I plan to spend this morning in my jammies, go for a late morning run when the humidity is down (sidebar: late morning no longer means 12 noon when your body wakes you up at 6:15 - late morning now means 8 or 9) and stretch plenty before I head in to work. I'm in week 19 of my marathon training (!) and have to do 12 miles this weekend, sandwiched between work, a wedding, and a bridal shower. Get it done. Do your job. The end.
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