Ah, the weekend.
I spent Friday night at the home of a friend's parents. We ate homemade pizza, soaked in their 8-person, INDOOR hot tub, and went to bed early in a cozy, little bedroom, made up just for me. We even got pancakes and homemade yogurt for breakfast, while reading the morning news. It was magical.
Except that part in between going to sleep and eating June Cleaver's breakfast when we ran a 5K race. Whoops. Don't get me wrong, it was fun. You know, the free t-shirt and medal part. But the part where I had to actually run? And where it was hot and my heel hurt and I ran like crap? Not very cool.
I did manage a time of 25 minutes and 37 seconds. But then I also managed a swollen heel and a good limp for the next day-and-a-half. Ah, running. So worth it. However, I'm on a no-running diet for the week, and instead will ride the bike (Worthington Schnell? Roberta?). And ice. And elevate. Etc., etc. I have a half marathon to run in 20 days, man.
So there's that.
And then, it was girl time. A group of us girls sat in the sun, drank mimosas, watched a chick flick, ate brats and found out who may or may not have tried sexual relations in the rear. (A: not me. And B: we were playing a drinking game). And then we went to a bar called Stirrups where you'll find women wearing tennis shoes, a thong up to their shoulders, scrunchies in their hair and a few, several, extra pounds around the middle, hence the quote above (courtesy of Kristy). It was a country bar. And in it, they played country music. And saved horses by riding cowboys.
So that's what happened this weekend. And wasn't that fun?