Sometimes I can’t believe myself. I really can’t. Today I got a taste of the medicine that I usually dole out to my husband. I returned home from my twenty mile run, sweaty, tired, hurting in places I didn’t think possible. First order of business was to get a drink of water, so while standing in the kitchen I turned my attention to the running schedule posted on the wall. As I looked at it, I realized that something about the dates didn’t add up. Something like the fact that I didn’t account for a week, meaning I have another week of training. Meaning that I ran twenty miles too early in the schedule. Meaning I have another really long run to complete. Meaning that I wanted to collapse in the corner and cry like a baby.
I have attention to detail issues and usually I reserve this minor character flaw for situations that involve trips to Home Depot, placing Michael’s chinese food order, or having the correct shirt clean on the right day. This means that I am frequently doing or not doing something that will land me in some sort of trouble with Michael. What it should not mean is that I have to run an extra twenty miles due to an accounting error.