It's 5:30 a.m. and the coffee's brewing. I can hear the Hubster snoring in the next room. Hideaway Cat is sitting in the "client chair," a lawn chair that I keep next to my desk so she can sit near me and I can pet her while I write.
I'm a little nervous about the upcoming few days. I think this weekend might classify for the title of "Extreme Weekend."
Today I have to work 11 hours. At least. That's why I'm up so early. That's why I'm leaving for work in a few minutes. I've been putting in 10-hour days for the last two weeks. So that's why no one has gotten e-mail from me in ages, and why my blog posts have been few and far-between.
If I put in 11 hours today, I won't have to go to work tomorrow.
Which means I can run the half-marathon tomorrow.
Then I'm supposed to go backpacking.
Yes. Backpacking. And it's supposed to be cold.
Some friends from Alabama will be visiting, and Hubster has made plans for all of us to go on an overnighter backpacking trip--our first in several months, and their first ever. When the plans were made, he didn't realize they were for the same weekend as the Worldwide Half.
So. Today: Work 11 hours.
Tomorrow morning: Run 13.1 miles.
Tomorrow afternoon: Backpack six miles.
Sunday morning: Backpack six more miles.
Monday morning: Go back to work.
See what I mean? Extreme weekend.
I don't know if this is a good idea. I'm really too old for this. I'm probably going to wear down my defenses and get sick. My better judgment is just shaking its head.
I miss George.