Monday measuring madness!

Clayton and I are moving into our new townhome in exactly 20 days.  For the past several months we have been making slow preparations in anticipation of our big move including purging our current space of items we no longer need and going on a huge shopping spree for other various things that we will need to fill our new, larger home.  I've carefully crafted a moving budget that includes the deposit on our townhome, paying our final month's rent on our current apartment, and the possibility of having to rent a moving truck to haul my 300-pound treadmill on the measly half mile journey across town.  As embarrassing as it is to admit, I've even drawn up diagrams of every room of the townhouses, carefully planning where we will put our furniture and what type of wall decor will be hung where.  I have left no stone unturned.  I have left no potential problem to chance. I am a planner. And planning ahead to avoid disaster is what I do.

Yesterday Clayton and I discovered that our couch will not fit in the townhouse's living room.

And I burst into tears.

I didn't plan for that.

And, like true creepers, we ended up standing outside our empty townhouse (the townhouse that we don't legally live in yet, mind you) with measuring tape and tried to eyeball the length of the walls by peeking through the back door.  Clayton made it a point to tell me that he was only indulging me in my late-night measuring escapades because he knows trying to fight my OCD is a fruitless labor.  It saves everyone a lot of time and a lot of frustration if he just goes along with whatever hair-brained coping mechanism I scheme up so I can go to sleep that night.  But, bless his heart, he does recognize when enough is enough and it's time to remove the measuring tape from my hand, gently lead me back to the car, and tell me I can have a bowl of ice cream if I stop talking about sawing the couch in half.

And, like the true man who knows my heart and loves me anyway, Clay called me at work today and let me know he spoke to our new landlord and arranged for me to go over there later tonight and measure the walls from INSIDE the house.

It was like, the most romantic gesture ever.

That's why I'm making him lasagna tonight.


In other words, I am just 5 weeks away from my third mini marathon.  The past two weekends I ran 10 miles and each time I was able to get my finishing time in well under what I had estimated.  However, I did notice a small glitch in my training schedule and realized that I will be peaking my mileage on my birthday.  Happy Birthday, Courtney! Now go run 12 miles.  Just what I always wanted for my birthday ... diarrhea.

I did a 3-mile recovery run yesterday and totally PR'd on my time! I ran the distance in 23:15 which put me around a 7:45 minute mile.  I've beaten that time by a few seconds once or twice on the treadmill, but this was the first time I ever ran that fast on my own accord.  And honestly, I'm pretty sure it was because it was like 55 degrees outside and I kept thinking about going home and heating up a cup of apple cider and swirling it around with a cinnamon stick.

All of my best running motivation always somehow involves food.


While I was looking for a picture to use on this blog post, I came across the video of Clay trying to give Joey a bath like 2 or 3 years ago.  It's too cute not to post.  More evidence that my dog is sinfully adorable.


  1. AH! Cutest vid of Joey EVA!!! Loved it! Super sweet Clay called about getting you in the townhouse to take measurements. Good man!


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