Mario, Mario, Mario, I love you to pieces, but seriously, what were you thinking? This morning I was talking on the phone with my big brother and he informed me that he had inside knowledge that I’d been training hardcore for our 10 km run this weekend, so hardcore that I’d been going on secret runs every night with the intent of kicking his butt on Saturday. Me? Are you kidding me? As much as I’d like to say that’s what I’ve been doing, because really it is kind of brilliant, I’ve actually pretty much been a sloth since my marathon, not lacing up my sneakers, not once, since ripping them off nearly two weeks ago. It didn’t take long to learn my brother’s “source” was my dear husband, who had decided to take it upon himself to send a taunting email to my brother to try and psyche him out. But what’s that saying, something about waking sleeping dragons? Oh crap.
- 5:50 p.m. BG before: 6.5 (fig newton, no bolus)
- Temp. basal: -50 per cent
- Time: 20 minutes
- 6:30 p.m. BG after: 5.1
- Temp. basal: +50 per cent
Well, if the email taunts were out there, I figured I should at least go for one run right. So between the first and second period of the rather disappointing hockey game, I laced up a fairly new pair of sneakers and went out for 20 minutes. I didn’t take my Garmin, didn’t take my music, it was just me and my sneakers. And through the whole run, I had one word racing through my head, one word I wished to relay to my big brother. One word: Truce.
My legs were like two-by-fours, my thighs were stiff, my feet were stomping, and the one thing I wanted to do, but forced myself not to do, was stop. Not the best run to take into a race right. So how ’bout it big brother, shall we call a truce on the competition? I promise my fingers aren’t crossed behind my back, I promise I don’t have evil counter thoughts soaring through my head, I promise to keep my word. Promise 😉