There can’t be too many things on this earth that are more masochistic than training for a half marathon in July in Texas.

Like pushing a jogging stroller holding a 38lb turkey through the “feels like 103” convection oven that is training for a half marathon in July in Texas.

Things that might come close? Jumping in a pool of rubbing alcohol 2.8 seconds after shaving your legs or remaining friends with people whose idea of a good time still involves a gigantic block of ice and a bottle of goldschlager [gaaaag].

Our big run yesterday was interrupted by me having a very public sobfest on the side of an extremely busy street because it was just so hot and I just couldn’t understand why I do this to myself over and over again. So I hate-walked the rest of the way home and tried to tell myself over and over: It sucks now. A LOT. But running in this heat is going to make you totally f&^%ing fast come late October.

We are (I am) slow. SLOW. Some of that is the jogging stroller, some of that is the completely oppressive heat, some of that is constant fussing at Landry to keep up on the days she insists on riding her bike for 2 miles. But mostly? We’re (I’m) just slow.

Jason and I are registered for 2 half marathons, the Houston Half in October and the big fancy schmancy Chevron/Aramco Houston Half Marathon in January (which might turn into a full – we’ll see).

And later this week, we’ll be registering for the inaugural Katy Half Marathon in our new hometown.

Because I clearly hate myself.