From the hubby's facebook page status: after running a 10km race this morning, i saw some runners with pints of haagen dazs. I ask some a volunteer where to get some and she says its only for the 21km runners. I said, wait a bit, i'll run another 11km...
I on the other hand, would just go out and buy the damn pint.
I oddly got inspired to cook dinner this evening. I had this drive to cook pasta - I didn't know what it would be. I just knew that it had to have bacon. We still had some herb-based ingredients at home, so I chose to experiment. So here's our dinner. It's Bacon-Pesto Pasta with Grilled Frankfurters on the side.
What's in it: garlic + onions, cilantro pesto, bacon, pepper and salt to taste, olive oil, feta cheese.
The hubby (who is washing the dishes right now) says I may very well cook this the next time he needs to carbo-load before a race. I just wish I get to repeat it!
It may be 3 in the morning, or for ultramarathons even 2am, I believe that it's no reason to look sloppy and unkept. I would say that the most versatile and yet fashionably practical thing to own, as someone who sends of a loved one in the wee hours of the morning, is a gray hoodie.
It's something that keeps you warm so early in the morning. You can wear the hood to camouflage bedhead, and wahey it also doubles as insulation (with that little fact of 80% or some significant percentage of your body head escaping through your head). Throw it over a tank top for the morning chill, and discard as the day wears on. You can wear it to top jazz pants, cropped shorts or what have you's - a skirt, if you really want to play cheerleader. And since it's a hoodie, you can disguise the non-sportiness in you. Because yeah, it's not a cotton-lined boyfriend blazer.
The best part about it - it's grey. It will go with anything. It can even go with your husband's singlet (but I doubt if you'd go that far).
This weekend, we were checked in at The Mandarin Oriental (using up a gift check given during our wedding). This morning, of course the hubby had to run. I was sandwiched comfortably between a lovely duvet and the oversized bed when he nudges me to some form of consciousness and kisses my forehead to say he's leaving. Mmmkay, I murmur and go back to sleep.
Later in the morning (at around 9am) he calls. He needs at least 3, no make that 4 buckets of ice. He did 25k or something and he needs to soak his legs in uber-cold water. Okay, I say, and call for room service. The room service girl didn't think much of it, I suppose. Or maybe she just did a great job masking a that "what the hell" kind of tonality from her voice.
A few minutes later, a knock on the door. I open it, and a lady holding up a tray with 4 buckets of ice stands smiling. I'm there, with bedhead and eyes adjusting to the bright hallway.
"Ma'am, you're the one who ordered the ice?"
"Yes."
"That's 4 buckets of ice?" (I suppose that it's odd, at 9 in the morning)
"Yes," I say, motioning for her to come into the room. I guess she sees that I'm the only one there, and starts wondering what the hell I'm going to do with 4 buckets of ice.
She lays it down on the coffee table. "Umm, enjoy the rest of your stay, ma'am." And she hurries off.
I crawl back on the bed. For all I know, she may be thinking that I was going to steal her kidneys.
Later in the morning (at around 9am) he calls. He needs at least 3, no make that 4 buckets of ice. He did 25k or something and he needs to soak his legs in uber-cold water. Okay, I say, and call for room service. The room service girl didn't think much of it, I suppose. Or maybe she just did a great job masking a that "what the hell" kind of tonality from her voice.
A few minutes later, a knock on the door. I open it, and a lady holding up a tray with 4 buckets of ice stands smiling. I'm there, with bedhead and eyes adjusting to the bright hallway.
"Ma'am, you're the one who ordered the ice?"
"Yes."
"That's 4 buckets of ice?" (I suppose that it's odd, at 9 in the morning)
"Yes," I say, motioning for her to come into the room. I guess she sees that I'm the only one there, and starts wondering what the hell I'm going to do with 4 buckets of ice.
She lays it down on the coffee table. "Umm, enjoy the rest of your stay, ma'am." And she hurries off.
I crawl back on the bed. For all I know, she may be thinking that I was going to steal her kidneys.
I really love shoes. I own possibly more than 20 pairs. Out of all of them, only one can be considered an actual sports training shoe. It's the one I bought almost 5 years ago, when I actually attempted to be a regular at gyming (I failed).
Being someone who did not develop any motivation to actually participate in strenuous activities, my appreciation for such footwear likewise remained at zero. Because simply, given the money to splurge, I'd rather place my high arch (so those running simulation tests tell me) on a pair that would add oomph to my outfit, and strut to my walk. They basically would cost the same anyway.
Like, come on... look at that. Webby-meshy net of a design strewn across your foot? Would rather have it on a cage leather bootie. And look, they both have bows too (people would probably kill me for calling running shoe laces a bow).
The hubby has been constantly prodding me to actually get a pair. And he's actually volunteering to pay for it. I'm hesitant. I honestly feel that my other shoes would feel bad. My heels, I mean. But then again, it may be the only time he'll actually buy me shoes.
Now that, could get me thinking.
I vaguely recall my husband nudging me awake, to tell me that he's going off for his morning run. He seemed like a red singlet of a blur, and I fall back to my pillow, asleep. It was a weekend (or a long weekend for that matter) and waking up early was not on the agenda. Next thing I knew, the phone was ringing and it was him calling to ask me to make breakfast. He's only around 6 kilometers away and hungry.
So I get up, grill some frankfurters, scramble some eggs and heat the rice. I set them on the table then flop on the couch to wait for him.
He arrives a few minutes later, panting and really hungry.
"So, where did you go?" I ask.
"Everywhere," he says, half-smiling and half-haggardly breathing.
"Okaaaay..."
"I went to Heritage Park."
"What?" Okay, for perspective guys, we live in Mandaluyong (Tivoli Garden Residences) and he runs from the condo. He doesn't drive, he runs. "That's so far!"
"That's the point," he simply states.
And I have nothing to say to that.
Dear The North Face,
Thank you for giving my husband this wonderful plaque. He couldn't stop smiling yesterday. Much so that he was actually quite happy with the dinner I served him, which was four pieces of reheated spam.
We have yet to identify where to display this piece. Right now it's on our living room table, right beside the flatscreen's remote control. There's no denying, it holds a very important place in our hearts.
Best regards and 'till the next TNF100.
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