I can’t find my Garmin watch.  I know I had it on Sunday afternoon/evening.  I can’t recall if I charged it or not.  I usually put it on my dresser.  And I can’t find it now—I wanted to charge it to use for a run tomorrow afternoon.  I looked for 45 minutes and nothing.  It must be somewhere in the house!

That said, my legs are feeling pretty good.  I met Mike today at the gym, and he made me do some workout stuff…including legs/hamstrings stuff.  BOO! 

We also shared race stories.  He said he waited around watching for me but no dice.  He DID see his ex-girlfriend, who {evidently} decided to run the half out of spite for him.  Back story:  a few weeks before, he mentioned to her he was running the race.  She said, oh maybe I’ll run to.  He said, really?  As if he didn’t think she could do it.  This was the last straw for her and that is when she dumped him.  So then she finds him after the race and is all, oh, look, I ran it after all.  I think that is just fantastic!  I wonder if I would have had any easier run if I had had spite pushing me forward rather than fear of failure/desperation?  (Obviously I am guessing here, she may have had other motives, I don’t know her at all.) 

Mike already knew I had thrown up during the race, but I mentioned how at the end I was crying by the car, and that my friend Jen had also been rather emotional.  He said, wow, women really are different. (Do men generally not cry at the end of races?)  Is that what my mother meant when she said “Men are different”?***

Who wants to do this race with me?  There are a few folks planning, the more the merrier, plus, I think costumes are definitely in order.  That’s my next race!  I am shooting to break 30 minutes, which I HOPE should be easy even in a costume.  Maybe?  Who even knows…maybe I’ll just end up at the side of the road crying and throwing up.

****My mom (who reads this) probably doesn’t even remember the Men are different story.  It was several years ago and I was visiting home.  I believe my sister Leslie was there as well.  I was complaining about something or another about Chris (you know how we women are prone to do that.)  She cleared her throat, sat up straight, and said, “You know…men are different.”  Leslie and I leaned in, waiting with bated breath for an elaboration.  How were men different? Why?  What could we perhaps learn from her marriage of 40 odd years? 

No explanation came.  She didn’t speak again on the subject.  Evidently all was said in those three little words.  Men are different.

I have taken that advice to heart, and any time Chris, or a male friend or colleague, does something I think is strange, or crazy, or ridiculous, or downright moronic, I take a deep breath, and say to myself, “men are different.”