Raise your hand if you saw the final Harry Potter movie. Those of you who do not have your hands raised: WHAT. Raise your hand if you got even a little weepy. Those of you who do not have your hands raised: WHAT. Come on. It was sad. Our little family of wizards is all growed up and gone and over, and omg Snape. I am just going to re-read the books and watch all of the movies over and over and over again for the rest of eternity so it's never really over. You see how I do that? Just live in denial? It works.
I thought it ended brilliantly. Maybe some parts seemed a little rushed (in which case, thank god for the accompanying books), but I still loved it. Times a hundred. And I need to see it about 11 more times just to be sure.
Perhaps if you live anywhere in and around the vicinity of the Midwest, you'll notice that it's hotter than an oven this week. Like, heat index of 110+ outside. And humid. And I don't know if YOU ever had to run in such conditions, but I'll tell you what: NO. Fucking. Way. I've been on the treadmill twice this week and it makes me miserable. So miserable, in fact, that I've regularly contemplated just running outside to make the awful end, but that's akin to, like, suicide, and I really don't have time for that and stuff. Plus I still have to see Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 eleven more times. So I'm going back to the treadmill tonight.
IT'S TERRIBLE. It's made me realize I enjoy running for the experience of it, not just for the exercise. Hell, I don't want the exercise bad enough. I want to be outside. I want air. I want a breeze. I want weather. I want sights and sounds. I don't want the whirring of the treadmills next to me, or the half-assed little treadmill fan blowing in my face, or the stupid TV or ANY OF IT. None. No. Make it stop. Oh god don't make me go again, please.
Welcome to my life.
In other running news, I've been doing heart rate training, and I tell you what--it is not for the vain. I've had to drop my pace by upwards of four minutes sometimes just to stay within the means of the targeted heart rate. It was impossibly hard to swallow at first, but it's been three weeks and I'm starting to enjoy it. I'm more relaxed while running, I'm more in-tune with my heart rate and my body (oooo, doesn't that sound super granola of me?). A slower pace isn't the end of the world when it will lead to huge benefits. Namely, safer running. But also more efficiency. And when all is said and done, my pace will be back, but I'll be running at a much lower (and safer and more efficient) heart rate. I've stopped caring about pace, and rather get excited when I see improvements in my heart rate. It's a much more fun statistic for the time being. (An aside, my heart rate has previously always been quite high while running, which led to my interest in heart rate training in the first place).
Before I leave you for today, let's talk TV. Who's watching Weeds? And with that question, who's totally over Weeds? (raises hand). Honest to god, I don't think Nancy Botwin could become ANY worse of a mother. At first she was endearing. I liked her. For about three seasons. Four, tops. But I'm totally over her. And it.
True Blood? The new season is good. I like Eric's temporary memory loss, and successfully do not like Bill. Lafayette, as always, is my favorite, but I think Sam's storyline is getting old and what the hell is with the incestuous werepanthers? Honest to goodness. Mostly I just can't get over the fact that there are "werepanthers."
I have two episodes left before I'm done with the first season of The Borgias. Like. (Or are we "+1"ing everything now?) I mostly like it because every time Jeremy Irons speaks I can close my eyes and pretend it's Scar from The Lion King.
SPEAKING OF LION KING, I will leave you with this little nugget via www.theoatmeal.com because it made me laugh so hard yesterday I'm embarrassed: