Asa has a fever. The day’s been filled with apple juice, popsicles, soup, Tylenol, hours of “Frog and Toad” stories — and no running. I called Eliot in a bit of a panic this afternoon. “Asa’s sick and he might not be able to go to school tomorrow and I HAVE to run 35 miles!” He was hip deep in work and responded with something like, “And you want me to do what exactly?” I was left to sit in the ruined house of cards by myself. Nothing like a sick child to remind you how delicately balanced all those cards were in the first place.
I’m not going to worry about it until tomorrow morning. If worse comes to worst, the treadmill and I will do what needs to be done when Eliot gets home. One benefit of the treadmill torture is that it makes running on a totally unfamiliar, hilly course against amazingly fast and healthy runners in 18 days seem like a gift. (Which, of course, it is.) Honestly, I am thankful for my blessings; No more reminders of my good fortune necessary. Really!