Don’t fight. Get along. Be patient. It’s time for breakfast. Be patient. She’s coming. Don’t fight. Be patient. Move on. Kisses are louder than apologies. Be patient. It’s time for breakfast. 

Everything important repeats itself. Don’t drink milk. What about yogurt. No yogurt either. It’s the same thing. Meant for bovine calves. Drink water. Drink more water.

Week one of marathon training done. Still have 5 more Fage yogurt containers in the frig before we transition to quinoa porridge or steel cut. Is there some variety of grain that’s low glycemic index and nutrition packed that’s grown in some place where Monsanto hasn’t Round Up fucked the soil? Use that for breakfast. 

Wellness Mama says the pressure cooker does not destroy nutritional value of food during cooking because it’s not high heat, it’s just high pressure. 

Today’s workout was 4-6 hills at 10k pace. After warm up and accelerators and cool down it’s a paltry 5.25 miles but my legs are baby legs. Not used to mileage. Week one of 25. Should I sign up for the October marathon now or see how the June half goes? I like the idea of committing. Tell the universe I’m serious. I’m not fucking around. 

I did some dread maintenance on a guy yesterday. We talked on the front porch about whether to go back to the person who has become a bridge you’ve burned and try to bury the hatchet or if you leave the wood all charred and just say fuck it I have principles. No conclusion was reached.

I made this really good dinner last night that Kate said was terrible but that just shows, I said, were different people. I massaged kale and sea salt and nutritional yeast and tahini and chia seed and water and then smeared it into pans and put the pans in the oven for 8 hours at 200 and afterward they came out flat as pancakes and stuck together like rice cakes and crunchy and salt and mmmm, we topped with sautéed garlic and mushrooms and onions and bacon and feta. And sweet Sunday rain showers that shit was fine. 

How are you?

My runner friend from Colorado messaged and said he feels like this is a trial period. Testing his mettle. 

Kate says she’s addicted to yogurt. Giving it up will be hard, she says. I shrug. We’ve given up sugar. We’ve given up eating for 16 hours a day. Used to be 15. Now it’s 16. What’s yogurt? I want to give up alcohol for the entirety of this 26 week marathon training. Week 1 down. No problem. My goal is to finish in 3:15. I have no concept of what that means or if I can do it but it’s the number I picked because it seems both reasonably fast and reasonably doable. 

The baby’s buck teeth. Her head on my shoulder. Turn off the cell phone. Pay attention to the moment, even though it’s not glittery and sparkly and swipe right type touch active motion phone. 

Everyone says lean in like I’m supposed to know what it means. Should I lean in to the no job offers and just train. Train for ultra runs and ultra swims and become this superhuman egoless angel in human flesh. 

Keep rubbing the knees. Keep doing the Cal Poly hip flow. Keep using the roller. Keep rubbing the olive oil. Keep thinking positive. The knees know the difference between achy negative and buoyant positive. 

It’s a trial. He’s right.