I just felt like dying

Hi friends!

Have you ever been in a position where something really embarrassing is happening to you, but there is nothing that you can really do about it, because, who are we kidding, no one can just shower for hours and hours in the hopes that hair dye no longer dots the length of their hairline?

No?

Huh. Just me then.

Oh well, it’s all one.

But to get back to what I was saying – although I had (on the whole) an absolutely fabulous weekend, because I did have hair dye smattered all across my hairline, and because I didn’t have one bloody thing on the dye removal list given to me by the lovely Kacy, I spent the majority of my time outside wearing this on my head:

Why, heeelllooooo there.

And while I really love my Forever XXI headband, on the one day that Vancouver finally cracked fifteen degrees centigrade, I was a little hot around the ears.

(Especially as M and I walked up the library to return our books, and to purchase our goodies for dinner.)

We thought the perfect dinner for such a sunny Saturday night would be spicy shrimp fajitas.

When I was first learning how to cook, as well as coming to understand that food was my friend, and not my sworn enemy, fajitas were one of the first things that I began to make on a regular basis.

What I’ve come to love so much about them is the myriad of colours and textures and flavours that all come to play, wrapped up tightly in those tasty, toasty tortillas.

You’ve got the crunch from the peppers, the spice from the seasoning, the sharpness of the cheese, the tang of the salsa, all dancing up a storm, to a perfectly timed beat.

And they are a fabulous meal to cap off a sun dripped, tuliped, early spring day.

Check it:

Nomnom. NOM.

Like I always like to do, I laid out the goods before getting down to business.

And then I chopped it, chopped it.

Do it.

Then I had sizzling sizzlers straight out of sizzledom. (Not to be confused of course with Jerry Sizzler, sister of Jerry Sizzler, the lounge singers and not two clearly insane people. See end video for more, and for proof that I am not the one clearly insane.)

Jerry. JERRY!

Then we laid out a buffet of brilliance.

All the colours of the rainbow!

For an end result of:

Happiness. And cider. One and the same?

What are your easy peasy meal choices that serve as the perfect topper to a smashing day?

And just remember, I’m not Roy Orbison. I work in colourization!

Psycho killer, well qu’est-ce que c’est?

So kids, it seems as though spring has finally sprung all over the West Coast. Check out these amazing planters my father in-law put together for us.

Darth Gruyere strikes again!

It’s weather like this that makes me want to pull on my shorts, lace up my Asics, and just race around New West until my legs give out, my lungs deflate, and my veins run dry.

Okay, that might seem a little ridiculous, or even borderline severe. But when the weather is so darn perfect, it’s hard not to slip into excessive use of hyperbole.

(It’s like the hardest thing in the world times one million!!!)

Erm.

Right.

So yesterday morning I went for one of the most kickass runs of my life:

I ran a 10.5 km in 44 minutes.

And it was brilliant. Smashing. Phenomenal.

Everything about the run felt natural. Felt good.

Nay, great.

It was as though everything in my body was working seamlessly. My strides were just that much longer. My breathing was just that much easier. On the killer hills, my legs felt just that much stronger, and on the way down, I recovered just that much faster.

I’m wondering if the fact that I’ve stopped listening to music has anything to do with the fact that I’ve been having such stellar runs of late.

I used to joke about how I thought a serial killer would get me as I raced around listening to my jams at full blast, but most (most) of that was said with a heavy dollop of sarcasm.

(Although there are some stretches of forest paths that I’ve run where I wouldn’t be surprised had I at some point met with my demise at the hands of an overzealous, accident-prone trail biker, somewhere in and around those pine-strewn creek beds, due to the fact that I normally ran with everything turned up to eleven.)

But I digress.

The simple matter of the manner is I’ve stopped listening to music and I’m kind of digging it.

I like the quiet.

I like to hear the sound of my breathing, the crunch of the gravel under foot; the birds chirping, an anemic lawn mower sputtering into life; the cheers and jeers of a far off baseball game.

I used to rely on songs to pump me up and keep me going on the longest stretches of my routes. For both of the half-marathons I ran last year, I had specific playlists, designed to let me know whether or not I was going to make the finishing time I had set for myself.

Top tunes included Robyn, Franz Ferdinand, Gossip, Blondie, and Lady Gaga.

Hey, don’t judge me, you Judgey McJudgerssons! Good pop is good pop. And my running legs don’t discriminate.

But it seems as though I’ve reached this point in my running career where I feel as though I don’t need music to get me through the longer distances.

Of course, we’ll have to wait and see once I start tackling the really big stuff when I begin my training for the Victoria marathon.

Heck, I may be eating crow (and these words) as I complete the race bopping about to Rihanna and Timbaland.

But at the moment, I am running clean. Musically.

(Oh yeah, I’m not doping either.)

The only one detractor from my run yesterday was the fact that I felt a little conspicuous, due to the fact that I still had copious amounts of hair dye plastered across my face.

But heck, now that I think about it, maybe that’s why I was running like the wind.

I didn’t want anyone to see me. Or at least, any more then were absolutely necessary.

Because of this insecurity, I wasn’t the normal “social” runner that I usually am – waving and nodding to my fellow long distance lovers, and thanking those cars who are nice enough to stop for me (and you know, obey the law. Seriously, you might be surprised how often stop signs are blatantly ignored.)

Hopefully the running gods will take pity on me and forgive me this one transgression.

I’m pretty sure my home girl Atalanta will turn the other cheek. She and I are tight.

What did you all get up to this weekend? And what music do you listen to while you run?

And if you don’t groove to the tunes while running, I’d love to know the reason why.