One day, when I was around 9, I was home alone and hungry. Dad had a way with food and taught me to broil hot dogs, to add a bit of pizazz. There were two hot dogs under the broiler, when I became riveted on a TV show about house fires (not kidding). When I finally got back to my hot dogs, they were light as feathers and black as coal. They were beyond scorched. I threw them away but when dad came home, he spotted them and pulled them out to inspect them more closely. He laughed and changed the batteries in the smoke alarm.
This season seems to be more about baking, for me, than any other year. There are cinnamon rolls in my oven right now, three 8 inch pans as gifts for my coworkers. Spring-form pans are not really great for baking cinnamon rolls, the butter and sugar just dripped out sending smoke plumes which filled the house with dense smoke. A cookie sheet under the culprit is helping to keep the dripping mess from doing too much more damage.
They'll be out very soon, and then I go up the hill and do 15 laps.
Christmas is just busy! I was thinking yesterday, as I was struggling to run: A little everyday. And for now, that is what it has to be for me, until I can find a bit more time to dedicate to this lovely thing I want to do. After the holidays I can get back to that ritual work day with the bookends of work outs. But the day after Christmas marks a 2 months til the event. That isn't long. I'll have some time to dedicate during the break--my last day of work is tomorrow. There are still a few things to finish up, but my mornings can be dedicated to training. Smokes!
Later: We got thrown out of the pool at 10 after only having done 9 laps. At least I got that in! Feels really good. My lumbar needed that kind movement!
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