Another blog post with a soundtrack (see sidebar).
Somehow recently, Henry's Rosie the Riveter action figure (I kid you not, he has one) made its way onto my desk. Her optimism, while well intentioned, has kind of been a nag, frankly. You can do it, Rosie. I'm just not feeling your enthusiasm these days.
So there I am walking the aisles of Target, and after I briefly look down and wonder if the Swiffer Wet Jet and Transformers in the cart might say something about my mental state, I see something I must have. A mop that removes the grime accumulating around me and toys that can change their identities at the push of a button definitely speak to me. But this perfect thing might as well jump off the shelf and into my arms.
It's Rosie's replacement, hanging between the Star Wars guys and the Power Rangers, and it's just how I feel when I've gone for a tough run and am feeling like kicking some ass.
I don't need the S&M woman, really. I just want the packaging. This unapologetic expression of ass-kicking certainty is how I feel after speed work. Running doesn't give me answers to life's questions, but it surely helps me eliminate unnecessary mental slag that I don't need. Tori Amos's "Big Wheel" came on during my run today, and there I was right with her.
M-I-L-F, don't you forget. M-I-L-F, don't you forget.
Tori and I, and Ms. Ruthless Agression, will kick some ass, no doubt. Wash you away, boy. We certainly kick the Swiffer's ass when it comes to my mental state in a shopping cart.
I wish I had this when I was a kid. If only it was a Transformer, too, it would be me wrapped in plastic, fierce and ruthless. The perfect Easter gift for the child in your life, obviously.
Today's speed session: 2 x 3 miles at 7:35 (half-marathon pace) with a 4-minute jog interval. Went well, clearly.