Give me your hand and let's jump out the window

I intended to post yesterday but one thing after another led to that not being the case. One of the perils of working for a living. One would figure I would be given a designated time at work to tend to such matters. After all, smokers get their smoke breaks. Perhaps bloggers (I hate that word, btw) should unionize and demand something from someone, somewhere. Or just quit their jobs. It's nice to get the occasional paycheck though. This is all neither here nor there.

Work, however, did not preclude me from my running schedule. Yesterday was the long middle of the week run, 8 miles. That one went quite well and I set another PR (my third in a row) at 1:06. I really can't complain at my progress at the halfway point in my schedule. The marathon is 2 months away and looking back over my journal from last year, I'm about 3 minutes ahead of my times at this point last year and can tell a tremendous difference in my overall stamina. I've no idea if this is good or bad for 'serious' runners, but I'm v. happy with how it's all going. I hope to continue to improve but if I stay at this level I'll be quite satisfied; I just don't want this to be the peak followed by a decline. That hasn't been the case previously and I don't expect it now. Starting with this weekend I've got 17,18,19 and 20 mile runs left. Oh, and the actual 26.2 marathon. No biggie.

My dearest pal, MB, and her husband (whom I'll call Gordon for no good reason) graced my fair burg with their presence the other day. They're still adjusting to life in the pastel paradise of Florida after spending the past several years on Lex Luthor's favorite continent, Australia. Slightly confused by the culture shock of everything (check her blog), they needed a respite from all the hubbub. We are proudly hubbub-free. Hopefully that will be our new town slogan.

Anyway, MB and Gordon are somewhat connoisseurs of haute cuisine and are always eager to try out all manner of places whose fare is somewhat above McDonald's. I can't imagine why. I'm pretty indifferent on such matters as one would figure. Nevertheless, since their arrival was around lunch, it only made sense we patronize one of the local restaurants for an equally hubbub-free meal.

MB loves couscous. She's willingly eaten things for breakfast most wouldn't ever consume, even if it meant starvation. She has very specific opinions on coffee and what constitutes a worthwhile brew. I'm pretty sure she evens knows which is the salad fork and which is the dinner one. It's all very impressive. Surprisingly, in all her travels she had yet to eat what the locals consider 'real food', i.e. vegetables and various other things fried, sugared or both.

While it is true my palette is equally refined to the point of avoidance of such items as well, with me that's more to do with the fact that I do not, have not, will not nor ever shall eat anything grown in the ground save for potatoes of the french fried kind. This is to say my avoidance has not been for lack of opportunity or prodding by various well-meaning folk through the years. I've simply no desire or interest in such items.

Apparently, MB is the lone person born, raised and, for the better part of her life, a denizen of the American South who never once had the opportunity for down home cooking. She seems to be none the worse off, admittedly, but it does provide me some amusement to watch her navigate the complex system that is the standard buffet line. I excuse Gordon in all this being as he is not of this country. I'll presume I would be as unsure in one of them swank joints they've been known to dine. Alas, this is my blog and I suffer no fools. I keed.

MB: "What do I do?"

Me: "Pick up a tray, go down the line, tell them what you want. Afterwards, I would suggest running head first into a wall. That usually helps settle the stomach."

So after a brief tutorial in queue theory, we proceeded to our table to enjoy the breaking of bread. Her bread of choice being a hush puppie which she promptly prepared with a knife and fork. Erm...okay. My meal of shrimp/french fries was quite delectable but being as it's a typical Friday lunch for me, I can't say it was particularly noteworthy. MB, however, was stunned at her enjoyment of everything. Generally the folks around here know how to cook or so the townsfolk say (again I generally avoid most of the these things), particularly since most are using recipes and skills that have been passed down for generations.

Dessert, however, was not on the menu though MB did note the presence of red velvet cake. I mistakenly thought this was a suggestion to grab a piece. She declined figuring she'd done enough experimenting for one meal.

MB: "Oh, no. I've never actually seen it. But I have heard of it."

Oh.

Me: "It's your lucky day since they only have it on days that end in Y."

One needn't always travel to the far reaches of the world for culture.

It usually helps though.