So I got home this afternoon, hurting from the 4 a.m. awakening due to my earplugs falling out in the creaky call room bed before my 6 a.m. shift, to find the van with the Oakland Raiders seats covers was in the driveway-- the cleaning ladies! Mierda! So much for nap. The whole house was filled with the caustic odor of ammonia floor cleaner, and the loud whir of vacuum cleaners heard everywhere. I had to say "excuse me" in Spanish multiple times just to make it to the kitchen . Why couldn't my wife ask what day is best aside from giving me advance notice? I texted my wife a sarcastic "thank you for the heads up." Sometimes I'll spend some precious time cleaning a nasty sink or toilet, only to find out they came and did the whole house the next day.
I realized they weren't close to done, and every minute in the loud din was making my head hurt. I could lament the suckiness of the situation, but decided to turn it on its head. Screw it. Trail run until I pick up the kids. I drove to the street in front of their preschool, grabbed my bottle and headed out. Headache and malaise eventually turned to the mild euphoria of hard effortful breathing compounded with sleep deprivation. Deluded and half delirious, I convinced myself: My wife did this on purpose. She knew I needed the workout. She really does want me to make her proud of me through my running. And she won't let me get soft on her.....
She's become my new trainer.
After an honest 2 hours slopping mud and cowcrap on my tired legs, my kids and I spent an hour at the doggie park with the rattie playground near our house, dehydrated, hungry and sore. After my kids ran around for their own workout, we returned home to the excellent fish and asparagus dinner my loving had prepared. I knew I hadn't let myself-- or her-- down.