The only thing worse than hills is...

Speed training! Speed intervals! Fartleks! Oh my god! I have no car this week so couldn't make it tonight's clinic. I emailed the instructor and asked him what I needed to do. He said I need to run 1 kilometre intervals hard. Six times. He likes me for a sub-four hour marathon. Frick. You show a little speed once and luck out with a 1:46 half and they want you to be the next... whoever is a really fast marathoner right now. Whatever. But the cool bit? I did 0.94 kilometres in 3:57 minutes. Okay, so maybe number six was 4:13, but still, that's not too shabby given that I only allowed myself three or four minutes between each sprint to recover. Oh yeah, the guy washing his Civic on the 38th thinks I'm crazy. He's right.
And then? Totally awesome night. What did I do? Did I go for dinner? Drinks? A movie? No, I had leftovers from Monday night's dinner at my mom's (the cake is now all gone and I am saddened), cleaned my apartment from top to bottom, found a realtor that is interested in returning my calls, finished my Tami Hoag book (sprawled on the couch listening to Groove Salad of course). And partook of a divine wine: a 2005 Chilean Syrah (Casa Blanca Private Reserve). It. Is. So. Good. I had a sip and started making notes in my little wine book and wondered if "orgasmic" would be a good adjective. I think yes. Mmmm... luscious.
Hey, more weird randomness: I was just thinking about my plans for the weekend and I'm going to be seeing Big D and just as I thought that, I got an email from him. Freaky. I sent him an email and I said that. Freaky, I said. Then I emailed, "I'm sitting outside your apartment right now. What are you wearing? Don't lie to me because I can see you". He closed the blinds, the fucker.