The glaring sun that I woke up to disappeared behind some clouds, so I decided to go for a run after all. The plan: run one mile, fast, to try to improve my snail's pace; then jog for 30 minutes.
I accomplished the first part: ran one mile in 11 minutes 15 seconds which, I know, is technically not fast at all, but for me it is zipping right along. Then I reset my timer and headed out to jog 30 minutes, no particular route, just winding through the neighborhood and not trying to gauge mileage. You do not know how difficult this is for me and my OCD. My baseline is o mentally calculate how many 1/100ths of a mile I am going with each step.
Jogged for 20 minutes and then was blasted in the face by a firehose-caliber stream of yard debris with a yard blower. I don't know how to say, "Please don't blast me in the face with your firehose-caliber stream of yard debris" in Spanish, but apparently it is not "HEY, HEY, STOP, FUCK, OW." I was close to home, so I jogged home without rubbing my eyes and in the three minutes it took me to get home I had washed away most of the debris with my tears (and maybe some sweat). Gave the eyes a sterile rinse anyway, and all is well. I'm feeling even better about my Lasik healing process now because my cornea did not wash out with the rinse. Yay!
Once again, the Internet has saved me from having to do math. My 17-mile-per-gallon SUV has put me in a tizzy over gas prices and I've been thinking about a new car. But according to this article, it's cheaper to pay for the ridiculously priced gas than to buy a new car. One less thing to obsess over.