Blorg. I am bloated with Christmas spirit.
I can’t believe how much I’ve had to eat and drink in the past 48 hours.
Christmas Eve featured:
- a large vodka martini
- goose pate (“no liver” — I’m not quite sure how to interpret that, since I thought pate was liver)
- a pound+ sirloin steak
- an enormous pile of french fries
- a large piece of chocolate raspberry cake
- too many glasses of wine to count
Christmas Day wasn’t much better — although since I was still digesting the Eve’s excesses I really didn’t eat much until the “turkey and fixings” extravaganza started around 6 o’clock yesterday. I was sufficiently inebriated and stuffed to fall into bed, semi-conscious, at around 9:15. I won’t enumerate what I consumed yesterday since it’s shameful. But it was delicious. And it only took five hours to prepare.
But, to my credit, I’ve been running a lot despite the bricks in my stomach. I did 10 miles of recovery running on Christmas Eve, a 10 mile easy run (last two at marathon pace) Christmas Day, and a 14 miler today. If I’m lucky, I’ll break even on the calories, although judging by the size of my stomach, I’m not so sure.
Santa, in collusion with Jonathan, brought some good running stuff in this year. This top — in red — from UnderArmour (which I love, although it’s currently embarrassingly form-fitting), and this hat. And this thermos for post-run tea or hot chocolate (when I “park and run” up in Scarsdale for my Sunday long runs). And…and…and…nice, thoughtful gifts from my generous family.
It’s a very quiet week at work, so I’m getting things done like archiving project files and emails, listening to pre-recorded “2008 strategy” calls and trying to decipher their encrypted messages…and generally catching up on other administrata that I haven’t had time to do lately.
Tomorrow morning is the annual “drug the cat” event, in which I administer Kitty Kwaludes to our half-feral cat in order to get her in to the vet for annual shots. It takes her about a day and half to get back to normal, during which time she’s stumbling around like Robert Mitchum at the Oscars, and we’re just focusing on not letting her fall down the stairs. In our household, the excitement truly never stops.