that thing you do

The jealous cat killed my boyfriend and tried to bury his body.

I had a wonderful v-day weekend with Justin, and I suppose I should have posted about it yesterday but it seems that whenever I sit in front of a computer these days I'm distracted by some form of work or research related obligation and haven't had much time to blog. We had some wonderful culinary experiences cooking dinners, desserts, and breakfasts for each other as well as a fine celebratory meal out at Chantrelle, quite possibly one of the best restaurants in town.

Sunday we ran the Truffle Shuffle as part of Team Country Vitamins. Because I'm a masochist, I had Justin sign us up to run the four-mile race. Though I know that nothing is physically preventing me from being able to run such long distances, I always have a hard time coping with the IDEA thereof. So before the race, I psyched myself out a bit.

Well, maybe I was terrified, which should have been easily remedied with some reassurance and by the fact that I'd ran three miles on Friday with no problem. But no, I freaked out right and left, first insisting that I needed my gloves (which I'd forgotten) and then that the weather was too crappy to run at all. We'd arrived there early, convinced that registration had to be completed an hour before the race. So by the time we actually lined up in the chute, I'd crapped myself out pretty bad.

Justin ran with me and let me set the pace, though he took some reminding at times. But I far too aware that he could easily outpace me and frustrated by the fact that his natural ability far exceeded my practiced ability. My tension and anxiety at all the people passing us gave me a godawful side stich somewhere toward the end of mile two, and I stopped. I was mortified, tried to walk it off, and ran again. It came back. I slapped myself, derided myself, generally tried to talk and beat myself through it, but I couldn't breathe. I stopped again and finally convinced Justin to run ahead without me.

I wasn't sure if I insisted he leave my side because I wanted to be angry if he did or if I knew that the pressure was just too much to perform under. Either way, I was peeved when he left me, running full tilt to shave minutes off his time, but I almost immediately felt better. After a few minutes, the stitch was gone and I picked up the pace, passing the lagging runners who had lapped me before. (I think this panicked some of them.)

Part of me contemplated yelling at Justin when I crossed the finish line. Angry at our compatibility, I just wanted him to go home. But that's the nice thing about running, if you can get beyond the aspect of self-punishment to it, it's rather cleansing. So by the time I was dusting some girl who tried to race me across the finish line, I felt much better... and like an ass for being such a whiney baby with so many mental issues.

See, that's the nice thing about my darling, he'll forgive me almost anything, and I've put him through endless amounts of bullshit over the last five years. By evening, everything was kosher again and he was making me tea while I started on my homework. I'm lucky to be with such a fabulous guy. Not many boyfriends will bake homemade meatloaf with mashed potatoes AND spank their girlfriends with a riding crop all in the same day!