It is time.
Time to mother%^$#*& work. Work on the bike. Work in the pool. Work on the run. Work in the weight room. (That should probably be "work" in the weight room. 'Cause as much as I try, I still hate that stuff.)
70.3 flat, windy, hot (mother%^&*$% hot) miles to cover in May are a little more than 12 weeks away.
The work doesn't stop there.
The house is now officially for sale. We're moving a mile away in mid April. So until April, this house, to quote Miss Hannigan (my apologies, but E is on a huge "Annie" kick as of late) "better shine like the top of the Chrysler building!"
It's a hard knock life.
Well, not really. The new house is awesome and I can't wait to move, but trying to clean, straighten and put away while two tiny people follow right behind you systematically dismantling everything you just folded, swept and windexed can be trying.
Even more so, when say you just finished hard run or a 3 hour brick and all you want to do is eat, shower and sleep. And you know, none of those is happening anytime soon.
I think I can understand where Miss Hannigan was coming from. Maybe she was trying to sell the orphanage while 70.3 training? And all those dancing and singing orphans just kept making messes?
Hmmm...now E's singing under her breath after I told here we are no longer allowed to jump on the made beds EVER again...."'steada treated, we get tricked. steada kisses, we get kicked!" all makes sense.
TOMORROW. TOMORROW...I LOVE YA.
(Who wouldn't? It's a rest day.)