Don't mess with my miney mo

Buck Naked, having just turned six, and therefore being given the dictatorial keys to the universe asserts himself into executive power with the fervor of a viking hoarde. Among his arsenal of decision making utilities is the "Iney, meany, miney mo". The world should be so lucky. Apparently the cosmos realign if you mess with the miney mo or so I discovered yesterday when he was about the business of choosing which lego train to put on his Christmas wish list. Because of course we have entered the season of "my birthday is over and now it's time to compile a list of everything I didn't get for my birthday and begin to ask for it for Christmas". I messed with the "Mo" and was duly chastised in a tone just shy of "you don't speak to your mother like that and do you prefer the flavor of Ivory or Irish Spring?" He backed down the tone, but then I had to ask; why are you choosing between the train you just got, and the other train?

"Because I want two of them."

And when does the law of diminishing returns kick in?

But then I remember this is the son of his father who years ago trudged house by house, block by block, day after day, week after week, year after year, 30 pounds of newspaper slung across his forehead, slogging along in moonboots through ice and rain, fog and heat, delivering news for nickels, which were accumulated to buy leggos and models. Then subsequent hours waxed and waned and construction of planes and cars and etc ensued. And more blocks were trudged, all just to buy two bricks of low grade explosives, and one epic battle later, there was nothing. Just charred, melted remains.

The male mind remains a mystery.

I'll do my best to hallow the "miney mo" from this day forward.

On to training.

It was a weekend of "not quite" I had 3XXX hundred yards planned and managed only 2800, because we left late and dinner time was blowing by quickly. So, I turned endurance into speed with a double 5-4-3-2 ladder alternating speed and pull sets with straight swimming. Felt good. Then I took a four hour ride Sat early am but only managed to "roll" for 3:30. I thought I chose a good route, and it was beautiful, but there were way too many lights and my chain dropped weird at the 35 mile break point, so it was four hours in the saddle but not nearly as many miles as I thought I might drop. The 1:10 run scheduled for yesterday I bumped to this morning. I just couldn't do another legs dragging on the pavement, hey it's ok this is my IM race pace run. I needed to go out and see if my fresh legs could still produce a 10K. Yes they can and I still find it surprising to see 7.28 miles at an 8:20 pace on the garmin. My brain lives in the 30 mins 3 times a week paradigm at times. Obviously that's shifted.

Which explains why Trihubby and I crashed early Friday night instead of going out for our anniversary. We took the Stella out on the town Saturday night, re living the days we dated on his motorcycle,
eating at the same greek restaurant that fueled our romance 16 years ago, and promptly arrived home at 8:30 pm. What???? No swank jazz club. No sipping martini s listening to the blues? No, we went to the local warehouse grocery store and grabbed a movie at the rental kiosk. We had the night. We were home at 8:30! Trisaratops has a great post on the IM effect, and obviously this is going to get worse before it gets better, but we're past the point of messin with the "mo", the jazz clubs can wait, we're in and it's going to be good.