It’s 8 AM. I’m sipping coffee and staring blankly at my laptop. The usual.
There’s a knock on the door.
I heave myself out of my chair with a dramatic sigh, as if the door-knocker is interrupting something terribly important and urgent. (As if!) It’s probably the maintenance guy, calling on some minor chore. Or the UPS guy, pulling a knock-and-run.
Or not. It’s my neighbor. (Who happens to be tall, hot, and British. Facts which I note here simply to help paint an accurate portrait of the scene for you, dear readers, because of course I am married and would never notice such details otherwise.)
“Hi! You have a white cat, yes?”
Excusemewhat? I strain to process the actual words, because – hello, accent. White. Cat. Yes. Shit. I mumble something awkward and affirmative.
“Brilliant! I’ve been trying to find its home. It’s been wandering around in the hall for a little bit now.”
Three things happen simultaneously: (1) My panicked mind races to recall the last time I saw Emmy in the apartment, and comes up blank; (2) I mumble more awkward things, this time apologetic in nature and laced with mild profanity; and (3) I squint toward the end of the hallway and spot a jiggly white blob in the distance, trotting toward me.
“Hey, it’s all right, it’s quite a nice cat,” neighbor guy reassures me. It suddenly occurs to me that I’m an odd-looking mess: cropped yoga pants, pink compression socks, uncombed hair.
“It was sleeping in front of my door just now,” he continues.
I can feel that my cheeks are turning the color of my socks. What the hell kind of pet parent am I? My poor cat, in all likelihood, spent the night in the HALLWAY? And I didn’t even notice she was missing? I feel awful.
Just when I think the humiliation level has peaked, Emmy breaks in to a full sprint and charges toward the door, belly swaying back and forth below her like some kind of bizarre pendulum. Bless her heart, I love my kitty, but her gallop is very unflattering.
I thank neighbor guy repeatedly (says he: “Allright! Cheers!” OMG.) I retreat back into my apartment, wherein I fill the food bowl to the brim and administer multiple kitty treats. Oh, the guilt.
Thankfully, Emmy appears to be no worse for the wear. She’s back to her favorite activity: tanning.
Perhaps she was just trying to foster friendly relations within the building.
Today’s EAT: Dinner dilemma: I needed something to complement a lone piece of leftover pizza and salad. Solution: stuffed mushrooms!
Recipe: Stuffed Mushrooms (via Pioneer Woman)
I used Italian chicken sausage and left out the cream cheese. These are….pretty healthy, I think? Especially with a lean sausage and reduced cheese load? Could be worse. And they were super quick to make, especially with the help of my little food chopper machine.
The hubs and I both stated for the record that they were just as excellent as the restaurant version. I’ll definitely make these again!
Today’s DRINK: Because it had to be opened for the mushrooms. Excuses…
This Tilia Chardonnay was fine. Definitely a Chard of the clean, citrus-y sort – rather than super buttery or oak-y.
Today’s RUN: Track time! I assigned myself a classic workout: 12X400M at 5K pace. I thought it would be fitting, in light of Sunday’s 5K, to simulate goal race pace a bit. (If the race were on a flat track and punctuated by 200M recovery jogs every 90 seconds. Where do I sign up for that race?)
Anyway, it went pretty well! I hadn’t run 400s in quite a while (since…September, maybe?) so I knew I’d be looking at comparatively slower splits. Fine. Gotta start somewhere.
I mentally broke the workout in to thirds to help visualize it as a 5K race. Here’s how things came out:
97, 98, 98, 97 [mile 1 – 6:30]
97, 96, 98, 95 [mile 2 – 6:26]
97, 94, 94, 92 [mile 3 – 6:17]
Good enough – especially for a solo session. It’s hard to run fast alone. I’m sure I would have pushed it harder if I’d had someone to chase…but then again, maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t, as I stayed a lot closer to true 5K pace than I normally do with this workout.
I also had to really discipline myself to keep it continuous: interval goes right in to recovery shuffle and back in to interval. It’s easy to get lazy and dawdle on the track.
Total with warm-up, cool-down, recovery, etc: 8.5 miles.
Today’s QUESTION: Do accents do it for you? I could listen to Brits or Aussies talk alllllll day long.