Ah, last week is an easy one. Nothing went wrong, because I didn't run. 8 long days off.
Last Thursday, April Fools' Day, I got three funny (ha ha!) emails:
-The first was in reference to an article I'd submitted to an edited volume last March. I was invited to contribute, I finished my contribution in advance of the deadline, and I received the proof for editing last Wednesday. With a note that they needed it returned no later than 7 April. As in, 6 days later.
-The second email was regarding a pedagogical project I've been working on part-time. It's an easy project, but time consuming. Creating solid multiple choice questions (especially when I don't use them in my own teaching) is harder than it seems. I'd been slacking on it, waiting for spring break, and the first deadline hit me harder than expected.
And... the pièce de resistance:
-The third email was from the assistant to my graduate advisor, telling me that I needed to have the full draft of my dissertation to my committee by next Thursday or I wouldn't be able to graduate. Ever. So I sucked it up and wrote ~100 pages last week to have a draft to send off (I had already written somewhere around 350p of it, but I was waiting for feedback). The drama there continues, but hopefully at a slower pace.
So, no exercise to record. Bailed on the race and barely left the house. The next few months are going to be busy, but hopefully this blitz week was a one-off and I can go back to balancing eating, working, exercising, and showering after this. If I could only record the miles I ran in my head, pretending I was outside along the river while I was stuck inside at my desk, trying not to eavesdrop on my neighbors (or inhale their secondhand pot smoke)... I even missed all the nice weather, and now it's gloomy and rainy.
But it's a new week! New training! New optimism!
On I went, out of the wood, passing the man leading without knowing I was going to do so. Flip-flap, flip-flap, jog-trot, jog-trot, curnchslap-crunchslap, across the middle of a broad field again, rhythmically running in my greyhound effortless fashion, knowing I had won the race though it wasn't half over, won it if I wanted it, could go on for ten or fifteen or twenty miles if I had to and drop dead at the finish of it, which would be the same, in the end, as living an honest life like the governor wanted me to. -Alan Sillitoe, "Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner"