The Number Game

Run: 3.1mi/31:30

This morning was my last run before the half-marathon on Sunday. Iiiijole (The Meghan translation of that Spanish word is "oh my word"). I can't run tomorrow morning, I shouldn't run on Saturday morning, so there it is. Now all I can do is sit and worry. Actually, I'm not worried at all. I'm only concerned about what I'll wear. Typical girl.

Our visit to the high school yesterday went absolutely fine. The Spanish teacher was great, we had good conversations with the kids, and met the school principal who is really excited and wants to bring a team of kids down next year. We all thought it was a fruitful meeting. It was especially beneficial because none of the high schoolers beat us up. And afterward we went to a Five Guys right down the street. Pretty productive afternoon, if you ask me.

By the way - at Five Guys, if you order a hamburger, it comes with two patties. Who didn't know that? I didn't know that, and apparently I wasn't paying attention when the girl explained it. So guess who got to take that extra patty off her burger? Yep. In case you were wondering, I got it with "everything", minus the mushrooms, add jalepeños. 'Cause I like it like that.

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Inevitably, when I meet people, they think I am younger than I am. This happened yesterday with the Spanish teacher who couldn't believe I was 28. I have to take it as a compliment, and I know I'll love it when I'm 40, but for now it gets old trying to diplomatically answer the question "So where do you go to school? Are you on school break right now?" No matter how much I try to hint at the number of different jobs I've had and places I've lived since college, I guess my youthful appearance fools people. So someone I just met was convinced I was 23, the girls at my church in Mexico thought I was 23, and the Spanish teacher was convinced I couldn't possibly be 28.

Then last night we went to a church for their Wednesday night service. I sat, waiting for the service to start, listening to the teenage girls behind me talk. All of a sudden, I heard "Well, 30's not old, but... it's kinda old." I was this close to turning around and saying something, but I held my tongue. Since when did it become okay for me to defend 30?

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To kill time between appointments yesteday, we stopped at a thrift store (surprise, surprise), where I found some great books. I found a couple for me, including Norman Mailer's Executioner's Song (which I hope I will like because I liked In Cold Blood just about as much as you can love a story about an innocent family being murdered), and Cormac McCarthy's No Country for Old Men.

But best of all I found some perfect books for my kids back in Mexico. Arthur Counts, D.W.'s colors, and The Very Hungry Caterpillar. It's a great book in itself, but I can't help but hope the kids will learn a little something about eating too much bad food. Let's cross our fingers.

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Today I am getting a haircut. I have been looking forward to this for 3 months. Nothing drastic is being done, and nobody will be able to tell a difference, but I will, and that's what matters.