Forty and Fortunate.

So my Birthday was pretty fucking great.

The Wife and I headed down to Victoria on Saturday, and I was all ready for a great dinner out with the Twin and the Sidekick to celebrate, and then a day of visiting and just hanging out.

Only part of it worked out that way.

Once we got seated and started with dinner, (I even enjoyed the Sidekick's recommended beer choice that evening.) the waitress had a surprise for us. When she filled our water glasses, she dropped off a small envelope between my brother and I.

My first thought was that she was pretty brazen - trying to give me her number right in front of my wife - but I was soon proved wrong as we flipped over the envelope to see a big "#1" on it. We opened it, and out poured some letters that we unscrambled into the word "What".

(I only had one beer at that point, so unscrambling a 4-letter word was easy.)

When the waitress would check back on us, she would randomly drop of another envelope, each one containing a different word we had to unscramble.

Envelope 2: "Happens"
Envelope 3: "In"
Envelope 4: "Vegas..."

By the third envelope, you figure we would have had it. By the fouth it should have been a certinty.

Nope. We were fucking clueless.

These are the faces of two VERY confused individuals.

I had guessed that the Wives were taking us to a local casino after dinner. (Vegas, gambling, it all makes sense, right?) the Twin had guessed that it was some sort of trick question - if what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, then it must be some sort of secret code or something.

What can I say? We'd been drinking and aren't too bright.

After a moment, I looked at my Wife and said "....are we going to Vegas?" To which her and my Sister-in-Law said "Hell yes!"

The Twin and I had 2 questions:

• "How the hell can we afford this?"
• "When?"

To which the Wives replies were:

• "Don't worry about it."
• "We fly out in less than 10 hours."

They told us that they had someone watching our kids for four days, we were booked to fly out at 9am, and that it was already pre-planned. My SiL even had the Twin's work give him fake hours so that he didn't know he had the time off. My Wife had skillfully (and secretly) packed everything we needed, including extra clothes and my passport, right under my nose.

(In fact, I found out during the course of the weekend that everyone in my family, the Wife's family, the Sidekick,  everyone at work, and a few other select friends were in on keeping it a secret from me. Some of them had been hiding it from me for six months. Those lying bastards - I love every one of them.)

We were going to Vegas.

I was fucking stoked.

We finished dinner that night, and I commiserated with the Sidekick that it was too bad that he had to work, as he had always wanted to go to Vegas, and it would have been a blast to have him along. Unfortunately the demands of his job were keeping him home this weekend. I told him I'd text him in the morning before we got on the plane and let him know how the trip was going throughout.

I didn't sleep a wink that night.

The next morning we headed to the airport to catch a short flight to Vancouver and then onwards to Vegas. As I was standing in the terminal waiting to check in, I was texting the Sidekick, who was asking how busy the terminal was, if there were lots of people, etc.

I sent him a message saying it was surprisingly busy for that time of day, and 10 seconds later I hear a voice right behind me say "It doesn't look that way to me."

I turn around to see the Sidekick, luggage and all.

Turns out my Best Friend was coming along too.

I glanced at the Wife, who just looked at me and said "You didn't think there would be just one surprise, did you?"

I actually kinda did.

So we hopped on the plane, jumped to Vancouver, and 2 and a half hours later looked out onto this:

Paradise.

...and it was awesome.

How awesome?

This awesome.

There are boobs EVERYWHERE in Vegas.

Later.

My Absence Can Be Explained.

....Because I was in Vegas, baby!

Yes, the wife surprised me with a trip to Vegas for my 40th.

I have pictures, stories, and really sore feet.

More to follow..

Later.

Sunshine and Shoelaces.

Today is officially the first day of my holidays.

A whole week of nothin'.

Sounds like a dream right?

Just so you know, my "nothin'" will include:

• A weekend away for my 40th Birthday. It's tomorrow, so the Wife and I are ditching the kids and going to celebrate with my Twin and his wife who live in Victoria. It's supposed to be nice and sunny, so I'm hoping for good weather, good company, and bad (for me) food.
• Because it's my first week of Marathon training and I'll be away Sunday, I cranked out my scheduled 10-miler today. Get it out of the way so that I don't feel guilty eating bad food. I'm thinking I'll do the 6-miler I was supposed to do today tomorrow morning before we leave for Vic. (I'm sure the Wife won't mind if I sleep in the car - it's my birthday, right?)
• I am skipping a 3 mile run that I could do Sunday, but if the Wife caught me packing my running gear for a weekend away, I think she'd make me run behind the car for the whole trip down. 
• Next week's mileage tops out around 33 miles, and I'm totally looking forward to it. I think sticking to my maintenance plan between my Half Marathon and now really made jumping into a more advanced program easier than just starting cold.
• I'm also planning on getting caught up with my yardwork now that the weather is nice - I've been keeping up on the lawn, it's just the fine details that need to be taken care of.
• The Wife is having a Charity Garage sale on the last Sunday of my holidays for her Relay for Life fundraising team. I cannot wait to get all the accumulated crap that people have been donating out of my garage. I know it's charity, but it's also my garage.
• I also have grandiose plans about taking the kids to the pool a couple of times as well, but we'll see how that works out - I'm still sketchy after just getting rid of the cold I'm sure I picked up the last time I was there.

Include whatever else pops up along the way, (I've had a friend invite me to go fishing one of those days, and another who wants to do a trail run) and it should be a busy week!

I almost think that holidays should be my full time job.






Later.

Stinky Pete.

There was drama at my gym this morning.

Stinky, ripe, smelly drama.

While not directly involved, I did get to witness/hear about it.

Let's be honest - odours at a gym are not a new thing. Take an enclosed space where people are exerting themselves and you're going to get a bit of funk in the air.* That's why the girl behind the sign-in desk at my gym has a scented candle burning 24 hours a day. (At least I think that's why - she could be cooking Meth when I'm not looking.)

I will admit to having released some odours myself while on the treadmill - hence the reason I never eat oatmeal before I run - but overall, I'm confident that I smell okay.

Today's issue was B.O.

As in ripe B.O.

As in smell-you-from-across-the-room B.O.

It was THAT bad.

The guy who was the source was completely oblivious to it. Much like the people who work in sewers or live under port-a-potties, he was so used to the stench that he was seemingly unaffected by it.

And it wasn't that "I've been busting my ass benching 275 for 12's" sweat smell, it was the "I just got out of bed and always stink like this" smell.

He was foul before he even started sweating. I felt fortunate that he wasn't in my area, and that I still have a trace of my head cold hanging around.

The drama came when some of the other patrons started to take offense to the odours - and thus began the most passive-aggressive tactics I've seen in a while.

Instead of just saying "Hey Bud, little ripe this morning, don'tcha think?" and leaving it at that, you get people who drop weights and walk away when he was near, people who would gaze at the unopened window, people who would all of a sudden develop a itch in their nose, and an awful lot of coughing.

Wouldn't that give you the hint? Not this guy. He must have thought he was in a gym full of HADD people who had head colds.

There where a couple of people who were pretty upset and felt the need to complain to the girl behind the desk. I'm not sure what she was going to do about it, as it was time for me to leave, but I'm sure I'll hear all about it tomorrow.

Although knowing what I know now, tomorrow I'll have 3 layers of pit-stick on, and a Bounce sheet hanging out my shorts.

Just to be safe.

Later

*Note: this is not good funk, like George Clinton and Parliament, with some Bootsie Collins goin' on - this is nasty, stinky, should-have-bathed-in-Febreeze funk.

Chomp.

There's no pretty picture for my issue, so....Hamster!

I think my mouth is trying to tell me something.

For the last 3 days, at least twice a day, (if not more) I keep accidentally biting the inside of my cheek. It doesn't matter if I'm eating, chewing gum, whatever - my cheek just meanders in there and, CHOMP! I'm in pain.

It's not like I'm starving and resorting to self-cannibalism - if I was, I'd start with those juicy love handles that I'm packing around and not the inside of my face.

It's incredibly frustrating.

I'm hoping it's just something I can treat with the usual "Man's Way of Doing Things", (ignore it, hope it goes away) because it would be a shame to have to get a professional involved at some point.

Me:  "Doc, I don't know what's wrong - I keep biting the inside of my mouth."
Dentist:  "Have you considered stopping?"
Me:  "Yes."
Dentist:  "Keep trying - oh, your insurance doesn't cover this type of visit - that'll be $150."

I like my way better.


But just in case - does anyone know how many calories in a human cheek?







Later.

I Feel:

- That after having had this head cold for almost a week, I've decided I'm either dying, or I'm Patient Zero in some sort of new pox on humanity.

- That my cold must be on steroids, because it only makes me feel like shit when I stop moving. You know, only unimportant things like sleeping really bother it.

- That since my gym was closed and my running program doesn't start until tomorrow, a 12-mile bike ride at 5:30am was a nice change of pace.

- That the reason I gravitate towards running instead of cycling is the simple fact that I look like a complete dork when I wear a helmet.

- That working on a Holiday should mean more than extra pay - it should mean free donuts and coffee, (Possibly beer afterwards) just to make up for all those schmucks who come in and say "Working on the Holiday, eh? Glad I'm not you!".

- That contrary to popular belief, there are douchebags in Canada.

- That changing the radio station at work can be a life-altering experience.

- That if I consider the above statement to be fact, I'm putting way to much thought into Peter Frampton's music.

- That we need better radio stations around here. More music, less moose.

- That the worst part of the lunch-hour nap in the breakroom is realizing that I was snoring throughout the whole thing. Thanks again, head cold.

Later.

Plauge and Obsession.

Picture tissues on one side and Nike Frees on the other.

I'm sick.

Not really-really sick, though - more like annoyingly-can't get rid of sick. Ever since the kids and I went swimming last week, I've had this annoying dry cough/congestion thing going on.

I feel like absolute shit in the mornings and at night, but through the better part of the day, I'm fine. I actually feel my best when I'm running or at the gym. Once I start to get my sweat on, my body just clears up and feels great - it's not until after I stop that everything feels smothered again.

While I think the best thing to do would be to run forever, everyone is telling me to just slow down and rest.

I'm taking their advice for today.

As nice as it is outside, I'm not going to run. I'm going to do some stuff with the kids, let them play in the yard, and just relax and do nothing more strenuous than laundry.

Why laundry, you ask?

Because my running gear is in there, and I need it for tomorrow.*

It's a twisted kind of balance, but it works for me.







Later.


*Tomorrow is my last Maintenance Program Long Run. Marathon Training starts Monday!

First World Problem.

I've got a problem.

After I came home from a run in my new shoes, I scraped the top of my thigh on the corner of my dining room table.

The scrape, while not deep or painful, is right at the spot where my phone sits in my pants pocket. All day while I've been at work my phone has been bumping and rubbing against the scraped spot.

Talk about annoying.

Sure, I could put my phone in my other pocket, but that just feels weird. I could just leave my phone upstairs, but then what do I do if I need to look up the fat content and glue sensitivity of Goat yogurt? I'd have to go alllllll the way back upstairs.

Plus, its cold up there because of the air-conditioning.

*sigh*

Tough life, eh?

Later.

Mumbles

Remember the Dick Tracy movie?

That flick came out when I was 17 years old, had Warren Beatty before he got all leathery and Madonna back when she was the subject of my dreams and not my nightmares.

It also had Mumbles - played by Dustin Hoffman - a gangster who no one could understand because of his tendency to...well, mumble everything he said. His speech was so garbled it was nearly incomprehensible.

Quite the looker, eh?

Now Mumbles works for me.

Not Dustin Hoffman, (if it was him I'd ask why he did Sphere) but a guy who I find I can't understand for the life of me.

Now, I'll be honest, my hearing isn't that great - according to the Wife, it's atrocious. (At least I think that was what she said.) Years of rockin' out to Hair Metal and following the rule of "If It's Too Loud, You're Too Old" has been detrimental. But I'm not taking the entire blame for not hearing ol' Mumbles - he has to take some of it when it sounds like he's trying to practice a ventriloquist act without the dummy.

I worked with Mumbles before, and even then his horrible speech patterns drove me nuts. But we worked a schedule that had us only working together occasionally, so I just faked like I understood what he was saying and left it at that.

But now it's different.

Now, we are working together practically every day - and while the work-related stuff he says is somewhat easy to understand and get the gist of even if I didn't hear it right, it's the other topics of conversation that get messed up.

I ask him how his weekend was, and his answer is unintelligible to me. He could have said he went out and drop-kicked puppies all weekend, and my answer is "Sweet- I'd like to try that sometime."

As you can see, it leads to some puzzled looks.

But now I'm in a conundrum: Do I admit that I've been unable to understand what he's been saying all this time and ask him to speak clearly, (thus showing that I've been half-assing every conversation we've ever had) or do I just continue with what I've been doing and hope he never catches on?

As you can see, the choice is more troubling than Warren and Madonna's STD results after that movie.









Later.

Sexy Sweet Kicks.

Fresh out of the box.

I picked up my new shoes Friday.

They're Nike Free Run 3's - an early Birthday present from the Wife.

I'm glad I was able to get them early, as they are a more minimal shoe than I normally run in, and I want to give my feet time to adapt to them before my training starts May 21st.

Aren't they sexy? I think they are sexy, sexy shoes.

I agonized over making the change from my Asics. I checked reviews, read online, went to the store and looked, and debated, debated, debated.

 I've ran in them twice now, a 3 and a 5 miler - so far they feel great, almost like they aren't even there. The difference in weight is amazing, and my Asics were pretty light to begin with.

Lookin' sassy!

As much as I like the look and feel of them, I'm giving them a week before they truly become "mine". If I have so much as a twinge of discomfort, I'm taking them back and going with my old model of footwear. Could that be considered a sign of paranoia? Maybe, but my feet are my life - I'm not taking chances.

If you happen to be in Victoria in the fall, and are watching the Marathon unfold, keep a lookout for these sexy shoes - and the sexy legs they are attached to - they'll probably be carrying a very tired runner.

But he'll look fucking fantastic.

 




Last.

Cottontail

This is a box of Annie's organic White Cheddar Pasta that I was planning on having for lunch:

When your pasta options are shells or tiny Bunnies, go for the shells.

Delicious, nutritious, organic. What more could you want?

Unfortunately, the people at Annie's are twisted, sick individuals.

Why, do you ask?

Because they want you to do this to open the box:

And I don't even have to buy it dinner first?

Yup - If I want tasty, good-for-me cheesy pasta, I have to Poke a Rabbit in the Ass.

Punch the Banana Chip.
Prod the Balloon Knot.
Plow the Back Field.

That just ain't right. (Especially with no lube.)

I think I'm going to have a sandwich instead.





Later.

Relative Acceleration

*Breaking News*

While on my drive home from work today, I stumbled across the perfect automobile speed:

- It's whatever speed I'm ideally traveling at.

Once I've achieved that speed, there are only two conclusions that can be reached:

- If you are traveling faster than me, you're obviously a manic and a menace and should be removed from the road as soon as possible. (Hopefully with harpoons and spiked belts.)

- If you are traveling slower than me, you're a retard and should be placed wherever slow-moving people can be dealt with safely - like a merry-go-round, or maybe just held underwater.

As you can see, it's quite a brilliant deduction, right?

You may also deduce that my drive home was shitty and frustrating.

...and you might be correct.

Later.

Smooth Pimpin' Drink

Look at this guy.

He's King and he knows it.

Just look at him.

He's all laid-back, sipping tea in a chair, watching while his breakfast waters itself not 50 yards away.

Who chooses these pictures?

Whoever they are, it's obvious they've never been to Africa, seen anything on the National Geographic Channel, and used The Lion King as their main source of reference.

Celestial Seasonings does this shit a lot, I noticed.

They've got Pandas in robes having tea,

Those Butterflies are totally going to drop that teapot.

Bears asleep in chairs having tea,

Covered in fur and asleep next to an open fire? That's just trouble waiting to happen.

and even Dragons and Maidens having tea...

Picture taken straight from a wicked-cool van.

No wonder the Tiger looks pissed:

Is that Mowgli in the background?

Everyone else gets tea but him.

I'd be mad too - goddamn Lion gets a freakin' chair and tea - and the Tiger has to sit in the dirt and look at some dumbass urn. Someone should talk to PETA. Maybe they can get Celestial Seasonings to change their ways.

....or maybe I shouldn't re-organize the tea section at work anymore.

Staring at all those boxes makes you a bit wacky.

But I sure am craving some tea...







Later.

Dear John Mayer:

I'm a sucker for your laid-back, soulful tunes.

I've been a fan since your early days, and have remained one because I try not to overplay your music and I completely avoid your Twitter feed. (I keep hearing you're a total douche bag, and I really don't want the confirmation.) Next to "Your Body is a Wonderland", I can listen to almost all of your music with enjoyment.

So you can imagine how excited I am that you have a new album coming out soon. I really like the first single, "Shadow Days" - you are right back to that mellow sound that just puts me in a relaxed mood.

The video, however, is fucking horrible.

I'm sorry, but you look like a dirty fucking hippie.

I don't know if it's the hat, the hair, or the scruffy chin-fluff you've got going on, but I swear you look just like a homeless guy who's currently residing in the bus shelter beside my workplace.

Take away the guitar, add a bus shelter, and BAM! - Homeless Guy.

 The unfortunate side effect of this is that whenever I do hear your new single, I swear I can smell cheap liquor and human excrement. I'm sure this wasn't what you intended when you decided to change your look, but I'm just keepin' it real for you, and hoping you'll see the light of day.

I tell you what: You get a haircut and stop raiding Billy Jack's closet, and I'll do my best not to associate your music with the drunk guy that staggers across our parking lot towards the liquor store thrice daily to drown his sorrows.

Unless that's actually you.

In that case, can I get an autograph?








Later.

In the Long Run: The First Marathon.

I'm sure that my dredging up of personal Marathon history isn't going to be as exciting as Triple T's - did you know she just completed her 1st Marathon? You can read all about it here.

I ran my first - and so far only - Marathon on October 11th, 2009.

Looking back, I had no idea what I was doing or what I was getting myself into. I just photocopied a program from Runner's World magazine, stuck it on the fridge and started running. After each training run, I'd check it off with a marker and just do what the paper told me.

I ran a 3:28:20.

The Runner I am now gazes back on the Runner I was then and shakes his head in amazement.

Poor form, bad stride, shitty hydration, and the belief that "stretching" was code for Gay Porn and to be avoided at all costs. All things considered, I shouldn't have done as well as I did.

What I had going for me was ignorance and speed.

Fast forward to almost 3 years later - I've had injuries, gained weight, got better, lost weight, and found running again. I think I appreciate what I accomplished more now than I did at the time.

Sure, I was proud of what I had done, but it wasn't until I had lost what I had and got it back again that I came to that realization.

I had ran 26.2 miles.

That's a accomplishment that not everyone can attest to. Oh yeah - go to a running club and it seems like every single person has done one or more, but go out to a random person on the street and see what they say when you ask them if they've ran one.

Everyone who completes a Marathon is amazing, but there are the two groups that blow me away: The Elites because they are so blazingly fast, and the people who are out there for over 6 hours because they just won't quit.

If you told me that I had to train harder to improve my time, I'd jump at the challenge in a heartbeat. If you told me that no matter how hard I tried, I'd be out there for over 5 hours, I'd rethink the whole idea.

Both of those groups deserve the praise they get.

In celebrating Triple T's finish, I realize how much I can't wait to start training for my Full in October. The scary thing is, I'm looking forward to the training almost as much as the run.

In honor of Triple T's 1st Marathon - I decided the least I could do today was run half of what she did. Doing anything less than 13.1 when she just did 26.2 doesn't seem fair. So I busted out a nice slow 1:53:09 Half Marathon distance, and contemplated where I've come from and where I'm going in regards to running.

As I've learned in this collaboration between the two of us, one thing is clear: While the finish is important, it's the training, the work, and the journey to get there that can be the most fulfilling.

Congratulations Triple T - You can now add "Marathoner" to all the other titles you have: Wife, Mother, Blogger, Friend.

You wear it well.







Later.



Like I said at the start - Check out Triple T's Race Report here.

Safety First.

The awesomeness of my cellphone pictures astound me.

See this?

This is on my pack of Christie's Fudge-Drizzled Caramel Popcorn.

(Before you accuse me of going retro and getting back my fatty status, it's one of their 100 calorie packs - a small portion that I have as a dessert to finish off my lunch - it isn't a bucket-full or something.)

Now I can understand Kraft, (who owns Mr. Christie heart and soul) wanting to protect themselves by putting the first portion of that message on the package. Caramel Corn isn't meant for 3 year olds and under, and if you are giving it to them, I don't think a warning on a package is going to change you.
It's the second portion of the message that confounds me. "Older children should be seated and supervised while eating." Holy shit - it makes this stuff sound dangerous. What puzzles me is the obvious question: What parent out there would let their 6 year old run around while eating a choking hazard anyway?

"Hey Susie-May, you look peckish - why don't you have some o' this here Caramel Corn while yer hanging upside down at the playground?"

"But I'll have to stop juggling my pet Rattler if I do that, Pa!"

"Hmmm - that's a pickle... why not just do both at the same time?"

"Geez, Pa - that'd be swell!"

Next to that, I think most people are reasonable enough when it comes to giving their kids food. (I said most, not all - I guess there are idiots out there.)

But the part about older children being "Seated and Supervised" just seems silly. I should make sure my 9 year old sits and eats his food? If he's not doing it already, I've failed as a parent, and I haven't seen him doing handstands at the dinner table, so I guess the message has sunk in.

How would that go with a teenager? I'm sure if my Dad had told me to sit so he could supervise me while I ate my snack, I would have thought he was nuts and ignored him.

But Kraft has to protect themselves from the stupid and litigious out there, who don't want to take blame or responsibility for anything.

And thus the package warning is born.




Later.

...of the Year.

Today I have weed-whacked, mowed, raked, and organized not only my yard, but also my parent's place as well. (I believe this qualifies me for Son of the Year.)

I've also done laundry, vacuumed, the dishes, scrubbed the toilets* and accomplished other things around the house. (Husband of the Year.)

Did I mention this was after my 6 mile run followed by weights this morning? (Fuckin' Awesome Guy of the Year.)

Throughout my travels and efforts today, I've had 4 travel mugs of Coffee, and plan to have more. (Caffiene Addict of the Year.)

I'm even taking time to type this blog post out. (Blogger of the Year.)

I'm now about to sit back, relax, and celebrate May the Fourth Be With You by watching either my favorite Star Wars movie [Empire], the Crappiest Star Wars movie [Phantom Menace], or the one where I'm entranced by Padme's abs and Obi-Wan's majestic blue eyes [Attack of the Clones]. (Nerd of the Year.)

And I still have one more day off after this! (Most Productive Guy of the Year.)

Fuck, I'm awesome. (Modest Guy of the Year.)







Later.

*I'll be honest - they weren't that dirty, and it was a total brush/wipe/flush job.

Nobody Takes Pride in Their Work Anymore.

I'm very disappointed with a group of people who live around where I work.

It's hard to pinpoint anything in particular, but it just seems like they aren't doing their job with any enthusiasm or pride anymore.

Of course, I'm talking about our local shoplifters.

If they are going to steal things, you'd think they would do a better job and actually finish what they start.

In the past week, I've found:

- A box of granola bars with one bar stolen.
- A six-pack of mini-cans with one can gone.
- A single roll of toilet paper taken from a pack.
- Two hot dogs stolen out of a pack of 12.

It just seems lazy.

"I really want to steal these hot dogs, but taking all 12 is just SO much work." I almost feel bad for them.

Of course, it may not be that they are lazy - they could just be stupid* - it probably takes more effort and risk to open the package and steal one thing than it does to steal the whole thing. (Okay, maybe not the toilet paper - that shit comes in HUGE packages.)

I think if they just took a bit more time, they'd do a much better job. They may even not get caught, and possibly move on to bigger and better stores than ours and steal some really good shit.

If they are reading this, I wish them the best of luck.**

Later.

*like shoplifting isn't stupid enough.

** and by best of luck, I mean if I catch you fuckers I'm going to have to hang back from shanking your thieving asses.

Confession.

A friend and co-worker worker of mine did something horrible today: he brought in fresh-baked, chewy, soft, chocolate chip cookies.

That bastard.

Do you know how long its been since I've had a decadent dessert or treat? I had Applebee's after my Half Marathon, and I had waffles after my 15k, but since then, nothing. At treat for me lately is fruit and yogurt for dessert, or something equally healthy.

But I wanted that cookie. Oh, I wanted that cookie like 14-year old me wanted to touch a boob: with my entire being. I visualized the taste, the texture, the melt-in-your-mouth goodness of the chocolate, and how good it would taste with my coffee.

(Yes, coffee. Fuck milk and cookies. I'm a Dairy Guy who hates white milk - oh, the irony.)

I broke down. I succumbed to temptation.

Not only did I demolish that cookie, but one of it's sisters as well. It was a whirlwind of crumbs and teeth.

And it felt good.

Do I feel guilty? Well, sorta. But I justify it with the 10km run I did this morning, the apple I ate at lunch, and the fact that I just wanted it.

So there - I've confessed. My shame has been made public, my crime brought to light. It's like a weight has been lifted of my chest.

Confession is good - and tasty.

Later.