The first nice day

Today was the first really nice day of spring. It was about 70 degrees and it felt delicious. All the light and heat made me feel kind of giddy and crazed, and it makes me realize just how much more I appreciate the seasons living here than in California. I spent the day reigning in the desire to raise my arms to the sky in thanks. Well, mostly reigning it in. And looking at my pale, pale, PALE arms makes me think that I probably have some kind of Vitamin D deficiency. Don't shine a black light on me!

I'm not the only one who is made manic by the sun. The streets are filled with people coming out of hibernation and enjoying this one nice day. Its like a colony of ant-people broke open and released its contents onto the streets. It's supposed to be 20 degrees cooler tomorrow. Better enjoy it now.

Yeah, this post is all about the weather. I'd apologize for my lack of imagination, but I don't feel like it. I got to wear flip-flops today.

Cohasset 10K

This is a race I had signed up to do and intended to run yesterday. But it never happened. Sadly, I seem to have pulled a muscle in my right leg (maybe my hamstring?) and I've been in pain over the last several weeks. I still try to run though, which really just means I'm reinjuring myself all the time. I do stop to walk or take some days off when I experience stabbing, shooting pain.

One of the things I had been looking forward to with this race was the location: Cohasset is the town where The Witches of Eastwick was filmed. And nobody likes a Cher reference better than me. Except maybe for Jack McFarland. Dr. Bombay (who actually did run this race) and I had toyed with the idea of running the race dressed up as different versions of Cher. You know, one of us could have been the Bob Mackie version:



And the other could have been the blonde plastic surgery version:


The possibilities were endless. Instead, Dr. Bombay ran with my timing chip in his pocket. So I was there in spirit, if not in costume.

In an attempt to cope with my pain over the last several weeks, I've rested, been massaged, seen my chiropractor and seen my general practitioner. Now I have a referral to a physical therapist, who I'll see tomorrow. I've been told to bring some shorts so he can look at my legs. Of course, I don't own any shorts. It's the Bay Area in me that refuses to believe that I need them or that the world needs to see my pasty legs. And capris are just so much more flattering. Which is what I'll tell him when he asks me to don my shorts: "Really, doctor, capris are just so much more flattering."