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Well, I guess it’s time for a running post since this is a running blog, and all. Or sort of a running blog. Because I do run. Really. I know it might not seem like it. I know it probably appears that I spend all of my time eating a bunch of crap, reading recipes, cooking Asian/Mexican/Madagascarian fusion, killing things and trying to get my puppy on America’s Next Top Model (she can work a camera like nobody’s business but still has to be dragged down the sidewalk on her belly during her morning walk so her runway skills are a little wobbly), but I really do still spend a good chunk of my day running.

This training cycle I’m doing about half treadmill/half trail for the majority of my running, and then once a week, I’m doing a long road run.  There is really no rhyme or reason to this strategy. Okay, there is, but it isn’t because it makes the most sense for my running. Ideally, I would not be running 50 of my weekly miles on a treadmill, but two things are dictating my schedule right now: my new puppy and terrible television. The new puppy thing is self-explanatory – I don’t want to leave her alone for hours at a time when she is so little. When I’m on the treadmill, she just curls up in her bed and sleeps or chews on a bone while watching me sweat and flail around. She seems amused, and kind of judgy, but she’s a puppy so what does she know.

The second reason for all the treadmill time is my addiction to terrible television. We’ve talked about this before, I know. I haven’t sought help, but maybe it’s time. I am a sucker for Dance Moms. And any sort of cooking/furniture, clothing, nail, scary mask design competition show. I don’t care if it’s an eight year old making a neon jumpsuit for a nun or an eighty year old flambeeing her eyebrows off while making Bananas Foster, I’m there. But since I have some sense of decorum, I do feel a wee bit guilty for watching this junk while sitting on the couch while eating junk, so I run while watching it. See how I did that?

Anyway, I’m getting my miles in one way or another. None of it’s particularly pretty or inspiring, but the job is getting done. Kind of like a root canal. Or a weave. The getting there is off-putting, but as long as you end up accomplishing the goal – a full set of teeth/full head of hair/20 miles – who cares how you got there. In my book, miles are miles, even if you are being judged by a dog while running them.

See how judgy she looks?

 

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Okay, I know I’m a complete and total liar about the lobster bisque – I did not post it before Valentine’s Day, as I sort-of promised. Here’s my excuse: no one in my family wanted lobster bisque and I didn’t want to kill another lobster just for the sake of a photo for the blog. I realize I sounded all Clint Eastwood in my last post, bragging about my lobster-murdering skills, but frankly, I was kinda showing off (and mildly threatening my new puppy). But when no one wants to eat what I’m making, my bad ass killing skills seem like a good way to incur some bad karma. No thanks, people.

And then I decided to just post the recipe without a photo, which felt like I was breaking some sort of blogger’s code of ethics. I promised you lobster bisque, so I needed to give you lobster bisque, right? Except that I discovered I’d left the recipe at school, so even if I had wanted to kill another lobster just so you would have a nice photo, I couldn’t. I know the recipe involves fish stock and cream and tarragon and a lot of alcohol, but I can’t remember exact amounts, and lobster bisque is not something you want to wing. Or at least I don’t. If I’m going to add bad juju to my karmic record, I want it to be worth it.

So, next week, I promise I will post the recipe. And maybe a photo. We’ll see if I can get somebody else to kill the lobster.

 

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