Hit Me Twice.

This year, there will be no grumbling in the car, teeth gritted, eyes watering as they watch the orange-yellow glow of the highway lights pass by. There will be no three million-bagillion calorie breakfast of glorious gas station Cup O' Noodles and Hagen Daas ice cream bars from the freezer. No watching the elite take off with wide eyes, no searching for my previous teachers or coaches, or even my father at the start and finish line of the race.
No. There will only be me. In the corner of this pitch black master bedroom. Keeping a heavy eye on this little girl who's having a little problem keeping her stomach in the right place.

This sweetheart just needs to go back to bed.

No. I went to bed last night at a late half past midnight. I just woke up about half an hour ago. That's about four hours of sleep I suppose. Give or take. I was having half conscious dreams last night that were keeping me awake. Probably that Taco Bell my mom bought me for my howling body last night to ease my hunger to rest. Our little one didn't even finish her order of one soft taco. She started feeling sick last night.

So today, instead of attending the well anticipated White Rock Marathon, I will be sitting in my sweatpants and t-shirt, make dry toast, and wait to hear the low and constant snore of a child that can only find peace through sleep. What a strange day for her to become ill. I can only wonder if this is penance from God, and this is my sort of service that I must carry out in order to fulfill my path to forgiveness. And besides. I've got a lot of homework that needs to be done. So maybe this isn't just penance. Maybe this is the way God is helping me get my life back in order. I always say that things will 99% of the time work out. The other 1% is for those who chose to make it go wrong.

I'm so tired. But wow, could I not sleep last night. Maybe it was the excitement for marathon day. Maybe it really all was my dreams. Maybe it was Forthmeal. Who knows? But this girl isn't getting any more sleep today. This girl is going to sit on this floor and play watchdog for the next six or so hours.

So. Good luck Coach Womble. Good luck Ms. Merrill. Good luck Coach Boysen [if you still run this race?!]. Good luck daddy. May you all hit your paces. And may the force, and direction of the winds [you better pray for anything but coach's so called 'toilet bowl' type], be with you all. I'll still be watching. No longer out in the cold, watching from beautiful Victory Park. But from behind the ultimate window of bits and pieces, behind glass and tube. Straight through the camera, and hopefully to you.