I was struck by a crippling Case of the Mondays this morning, just barely summoning the strength to drag my tired butt out of bed. If I drank coffee, today would be the day I’d order a double-shot. Last week’s faint buzz of work activity dissipated completely – I didn’t receive any emails over the weekend and I actually started to worry that maybe my BlackBerry was broken. (It’s not.) So I’m back to staring at my computer monitor and daydreaming. The sky over Central Park is dark and cloudy, the kind of gloom that portends a very soggy evening run and probable neglect of my threatening laundry pile.
This was my last weekend at the shore until Labor Day. (I know, you’re all thrilled for the end of my blathering about my deep and personal relationship with the Jersey Shore.) I’m always sad to leave but I’m happy to be spending the next few weekends here in Manhattan. I logged a solid 36 travel hours this summer, half of them spent nodding off on strangers’ shoulders on Amtrak trains and all of them worth the ensuing Monday tiredness to see my friends and family.
SisterOh and I ran the Captain Bill Gallagher’s Island Run together on Saturday evening. I ran it years ago, and every year since we talk about entering but always find some reason to bail. She signed us up Friday night – with our tshirts and official race numbers there was no wimping out this time. The race starts at the Beach Patrol house in the center of town, goes north to the top of the island, south to the bottom of the island, and back to center. There are three killer transitions through the dry sand, but otherwise it’s ten miles of flat running along the shoreline, with thousands of spectators lined up handing out water and offering encouragement. We ran relatively easy, chatted about school stuff, checked out the (many) hot guy runners, and generally had a blast. As Dr. F said, “The only two people who look like they’re having fun out there are [JackieOh] and [SisterOh],” and he was probably right. Just past mile 5 we both checked out the same guy and SisterOh said subtly, as if reading my mind, "Now that's a reason to run a little faster!" Somewhere in the past year I blinked and my little sister isn't so little anymore - she's now a younger, skinnier, more-OCD and less-bitchy version of me. It's fantastic. After the race we stripped off our sandy, sodden sneakers and dove into the Atlantic. It was wonderful, and I think all races should end in similar fashion.
Loud Guy was out all last week, and I got used to the peace and quiet. On Wednesday night over too many after-work drinks we discovered that everyone on the floor (not just me and C) is fed up with his volume and whining. Now he’s back and should be warned that I’m wearing some potentially pain-inflicting wooden wedge heels. He’s been on the phone with The Girlfriend for the past two hours in a back-and-forth bitchfest about plans for the evening. He keeps suggesting dinner, she obviously doesn’t want to go, then they get into the “What’s more important to you?” deathtrap questions…It’s truly amazing at this point.
My conversation about plans for the evening went like this, via text messages:
R: Simpson’s movie tonight?
Me: I’m in.
R: Invite M and G?
Me: I’ll see if they’re free.
See, Loud Guy, this is how it works when you’re dating someone who WANTS to hang out with you. No great debate, no drawn-out phone calls, no annoying your co-workers. There’s been mention of a pedicure - The Girlfriend would rather get her nails done than hang out with Loud Guy. I feel you, girl, but have some pity and cut him loose. He actually just said, “I guess I just have a little perspective on the situation…” Let me assure you, Loud Guy, you do not have any perspective on the situation or you’d be off the phone and my shoe would be back on my foot instead of perilously close to being flung at your head.
Christ, I need to start drinking with breakfast.
This was my last weekend at the shore until Labor Day. (I know, you’re all thrilled for the end of my blathering about my deep and personal relationship with the Jersey Shore.) I’m always sad to leave but I’m happy to be spending the next few weekends here in Manhattan. I logged a solid 36 travel hours this summer, half of them spent nodding off on strangers’ shoulders on Amtrak trains and all of them worth the ensuing Monday tiredness to see my friends and family.
SisterOh and I ran the Captain Bill Gallagher’s Island Run together on Saturday evening. I ran it years ago, and every year since we talk about entering but always find some reason to bail. She signed us up Friday night – with our tshirts and official race numbers there was no wimping out this time. The race starts at the Beach Patrol house in the center of town, goes north to the top of the island, south to the bottom of the island, and back to center. There are three killer transitions through the dry sand, but otherwise it’s ten miles of flat running along the shoreline, with thousands of spectators lined up handing out water and offering encouragement. We ran relatively easy, chatted about school stuff, checked out the (many) hot guy runners, and generally had a blast. As Dr. F said, “The only two people who look like they’re having fun out there are [JackieOh] and [SisterOh],” and he was probably right. Just past mile 5 we both checked out the same guy and SisterOh said subtly, as if reading my mind, "Now that's a reason to run a little faster!" Somewhere in the past year I blinked and my little sister isn't so little anymore - she's now a younger, skinnier, more-OCD and less-bitchy version of me. It's fantastic. After the race we stripped off our sandy, sodden sneakers and dove into the Atlantic. It was wonderful, and I think all races should end in similar fashion.Loud Guy was out all last week, and I got used to the peace and quiet. On Wednesday night over too many after-work drinks we discovered that everyone on the floor (not just me and C) is fed up with his volume and whining. Now he’s back and should be warned that I’m wearing some potentially pain-inflicting wooden wedge heels. He’s been on the phone with The Girlfriend for the past two hours in a back-and-forth bitchfest about plans for the evening. He keeps suggesting dinner, she obviously doesn’t want to go, then they get into the “What’s more important to you?” deathtrap questions…It’s truly amazing at this point.
My conversation about plans for the evening went like this, via text messages:
R: Simpson’s movie tonight?
Me: I’m in.
R: Invite M and G?
Me: I’ll see if they’re free.
See, Loud Guy, this is how it works when you’re dating someone who WANTS to hang out with you. No great debate, no drawn-out phone calls, no annoying your co-workers. There’s been mention of a pedicure - The Girlfriend would rather get her nails done than hang out with Loud Guy. I feel you, girl, but have some pity and cut him loose. He actually just said, “I guess I just have a little perspective on the situation…” Let me assure you, Loud Guy, you do not have any perspective on the situation or you’d be off the phone and my shoe would be back on my foot instead of perilously close to being flung at your head.
Christ, I need to start drinking with breakfast.
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