I think I'm getting the hang of this corporate thing. See, all you have to do is be FULLY PREPARED for a big meeting, including setting up telecon and WebEx info way ahead of time, sending reminders, being on time, and having all the equipement work just right, and then what will happen is that nobody will have either 1) read the damned documents you sent out a week ago or 2) they will not have any major issues with the content.
In this way, what was supposed to have been a 60-minute meeting is over in 15, including exchange of niceties.
This? I could get used to.
So. This running thing. A few things I've learned:
1) It's way easier to wog first thing in the morning
2) Me and the 5 minutes have a love/hate affair going on.
3) I need an inhaler
4) Still feels so good when it's over
5) It's creating calf muscles where there were none before
6) I'm a better tennis player (or so says my tennising partner)
7) Those 36 stairs going up to HR at work? Piece of cake.
Yesterday we did a wog in the later afternoon. MISTAKE. It was humid and warm, 2 things that are like instant pulmonary death for me. I had to break in the middle of the first 5-minute interval to catch my breath (conditioning takes a while, it would seem), and somehow we wound up doing all these long low inclines so that my calves were screaming for mercy only halfway through an interval (which I did not give them, because sore calves are a Thing I Can Get Over, much unlike the lung thing). All in all, not the best outing we've ever had.
As we were scandalously near to finishing our second long interval, bathed in the sweet sweat of near success, a little blue car overtook us, an arm started waving out the driver's side window, and a friend poked his head out the car window shouting "woo! GO FOR IT!" and then offered Biff brownies.
Oddly, that one smiling face cheering us on gave me 30 extra seconds of running time. Yeah, I'm totally a sucker for positive reinforcement.
(Note: We turned down the brownies, then went home and made giagantic chocolate chip cookies and drank red wine. Yurm! )
(<---eet's a NAKED mole!)
So, on Thursday I get to go to the dermatologist and have her carve a piece of butt-meat offa me because it seems the mole she took off a couple of weeks ago has reached some tiny tendrils OF DOOM farther into my sweet spots than her original carvery could cut.
Stitches will be involved. ON MY BUTT! Well, OK, NEAR my butt. Specifically, at the very top of my right thigh. This make sitting, which is one of my favorite hobbies and a thing at which I am very good indeed, will be difficult. I might be forced to...recline heavily for a couple of days. Oh, the horror.
The doc had better get it ALL this time, because really? Having people jab my ass with needles full of hot stingy anaesthetic, and then hack away at a place I cannot see is disconcerting once, let alone twice. Thrice (what a word!) would just be too much. They might as well just take the whole damned LEG, you know?
I don't even get to keep the souvenier, which just heaps insult on injury. One measly corner of whatever oddity I've sprouted isn't too much to ask, do you think? Sheesh!
With that, have a lovely day.