Today I logged six miles with Kathy P in the Parkway; in the evening, I ran down the South Mountain twice, with Mark and the girls following me in the truck. We drove to the tippety top where he promptly kicked me out the door. You have to go several hundred yards before you begin the first descent. As the drop began, I could feel myself pulling back so that I would go too fast. As cars would approach from behind, Mark would toot the horn. The neat part of the run was that I could hear my girls in the car: "Go, Mommy, go" and "Run fast, Mommy." Their shreiks made me smile--more than any bowl of Moose Tracks could muster.
We also went out for an early dinner to celebrate Annie's 17th birthday. Fine dining, at its best--Red Lobster! Her choice. Why does it seem that so many large people eat there? I swear, there was a pair of two women across from us. Together they probably tipped in at 450. At least. One of them was on oxygen, and you could hear the tank pumping air as she shoved fried shrimp down her throat. There's something sad about it. On our way out, I counted two wheelchairs, one walker, and a little nun. It's almost like Old Country Buffer for fish eaters.
Afterward, we swam with the girls and Andrew while Ann sat on the sidelines. I wish she felt more like a player on our team. How do you get someone to join the game when they don't want to play? Even when they're an integral part of the line-up?