Oompa Loompa

Reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to T right now...I love that story so much. J has read it a billion times himself but he can still be heard sniggering from the top bunk at the jokes and more often than not he's hanging over the side in a scary way to see the pictures too. We just read about the square sweets (candies over here) that look round and then the chapter where Veruca and her parents are sent down the 'bad nut' chute. The only problem is with the songs, I have to sing them out loud with no idea of what kind of tune I should be singing them to...the boys don't mind my meandering tunelesness though so it's okay.
15 miles yesterday to start my taper...the first seven - yes seven, miles were absolutely dire. It was cold and windy with hail, rain and snow vying for a place in each mile. Spring in Seattle! My left calf felt like a canon ball. Everything eased up at the half way mark and I made it home merely disgruntled. 3 miles today...in the afternoon really a bit too soon after lunch, went swimmingly. Really sped along. What is going on?
The boys have started doing track and field again...I love the fact that they run fast, some part of that must have come from my side of the family, maybe it just skips a generation.
So I was looking to see if that really is my best running picture (it is). I found pictures of my finish at last years Seattle Marathon and then suddenly realised the guy sharing my finish line photo not only looks young but actually also looks like a runner. Several maneuvers later I figured out that he was 32 years old on race day and finished the same time as I did. Instead of just glad to be finished while knowing that his time was sort of rubbish he had his arms in the air as though he'd just won. Of course he had...the marathon is a challenge of mind against matter and his mind had hauled all his matter 26 miles and then some to that finish line. It made me think that I should be more proud of my achievement rather than squashing my herculean efforts in training and on race day with the sad old 'slow' word.