There is a part of me that KNOWS that dogs cannot tell time or know what day of the week it is.
Every Saturday night, I give them a special treat. Usually it’s a Bully Stick. They chow down while Marc and I watch a movie. It’s kind of our thing. (Yes, I know, my life is terribly exciting!)
And, unfailingly, around 8:30 PM on Saturday nights, if they haven’t been given their bully stick yet, they stand in front of me and STARE.
They don’t do that any other night. So, how the HELL do they know it’s Saturday AND time for their weekly special treat??
And now – Sunday mornings. Since I haven’t been doing long runs (because I suck at life), I’ve convinced myself that running with the dogs is just as good.
But I woke up this morning with ZERO motivation. I mean, NONE. It was cloudy and 55 degrees. CRAPPY day for someone who loves hot and sunny, but almost perfect running weather.
So I sat here playing Spades on the computer while Fat Jen made her valiant pitch why Sunday should be a rest day.
And she might have won. But I got this look:
He just stood there staring.
And when I got up and went to the pee? Both dogs practically chased me into the bathroom and stared at me expectantly.
So, guilt got the best of me and we got into the SUV and drove to the trail and made it happen.
This is 8 miles later – they always look so much better than I do after a run!
Incidentally, I got there just as another woman was arriving. She was dressed in running clothes but started walking just as I was pulling into a parking space.
We were running behind her and she started running at .25 miles in. We passed her, but her pace was pretty close to mine, so when we turned around at 4 miles to do the trail again, she was almost back.
I wondered if she was surprised that I was heading out again instead of leaving. I often see these people that I consider AMAZING runners – so motivated and running such long distances – and I wonder if they ever battle motivation. If they ever have to argue with themselves to get out the door and run. If they ever want to say fuck it. I tend to assume that they always are happy and excited to get out there and run. I wonder if people assume that about me.
Because clearly that assumption is wrong.
When I got back my weight was the same as yesterday. Is it possible that I have actually dropped a couple pounds finally?