You know what the worst part about training for a marathon is?

RUNNING.

No duh right? I mean you think that moderately smart me would understand the fact that in order to run 26.2 miles, you would actually have to RUN 26.2 miles.

But nope, three weeks into it and every morning I'm like WHAT? RUN? AGAIN?

And I hate that the ''trick''to running is to NOT think about running when you're actually doing it.

The only thing I can do without really thinking about doing it is eat an entire cream cheese King Cake.

So you can understand my frustration.

The other thing I had no idea was going to happen is that I was going to be completely and utterly TIRED....like being able to pass out on the couch while the f*&?g Wonder Pets are figuring shit out LOUDLY on TV and my kids are playing kick the core stability over the couch where mom's past out on...TIRED.

And like my husband says...I DON'T DO TIRED VERY WELL.

My already minimal patience is now extinct and 5 o’clock in my house is now looking more and more like a scene from Flowers in the Attic...well maybe minus the beatings and the poisoning and all that good stuff.

But I don't expect any sympathy.

I AM in fact doing this to myself.

Completely voluntary.

For no reason really.

Wait, why am I doing this again?

About two days after writing this post, I hurt my back.

I wish I could say I hurt my back doing some grueling work-out or rescuing baby seals from rabid polar bears.

But, no.

I pulled my lower back out opening the top of a little cedar chest in my bedroom while looking for hidden SpongeBob Easter candy as a reward for Joseph who had slept the entire night without a diaper.

Not hard core at all...and yes I do reward my kids with candy on occasion...when I'm out of chewing tobacco.

Ok, so the point is that now I CAN'T RUN!

Yep, the one thing I was dreading and complaining about only a few hours prior to my ''injury'' is the one thing I now LONG to do.

The grass is NOT always greener folks.

And the worse part is, the only thing I can do is rest, more rest, ice, more ice and BE PATIENT.

If there's one thing I'm NOT, is patient. Just ask the last person who had the painful pleasure of playing a round of golf with me.

Not cute.

So anyway, I have about another 4 days of “resting” and then I can go back to go bitching about running.

Don't you wish you lived in the same house as me?