Du DOO du du du doooo! The crummy-weather crazies are back in full force. You knew it would happen eventually.
I need help.
I have had the Fiddler on the Roof theme song stuck in my head for over seven months.
I heard it played by a children’s band on April 17th, 2011, after which it slithered up my brainstem and affixed itself like a spiteful parasite to my dorsolateral frontal cortex.
If you are unsure which song I’m talking about, you may subject yourself to the same torture by listening to the first 25 seconds of this video. Then, if you’re like me and have absolutely nothing worthwhile to do with your life for the next four minutes, I invite you to watch the entire thing because apparently it is a remake of the musical by some random family and it is absurd and cackle-worthy.
So, yeah. I couldn’t get the tune out of my head for a few months and kept going about my daily life idly humming it and looking like a batty nutcase, so my roommate and I finally rented and watched the movie.
The first thirty minutes were fabulous and had all sorts of exciting songs and we essentially ran around the apartment yelling “If I Were a Rich Man” and trying unsuccessfully to replicate the wedding bottle dance.
Then the rest of the movie was long and boring and sad and brimming with suck and our eyes became glassy and dead as we began involuntarily drooling. I’m not sure whence we summoned the grit and resilience to continue watching, but finally the end credits rolled around and we breathed sighs of relief and promised never to rent a three-hour movie ever again.
I’d hoped my movie experience would help get the song out of my system, but devastatingly, it only made things worse.
My brain is on a constant loop of Fiddler on the damn ROOF.
THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ACCEPTABLE ABOUT THIS.
I feel helpless.
This is my official plea for a musical exorcism.
Running. It’s going well. Physically, I feel fantastic. Mentally, it’s a struggle sometimes. Here are a few tidbits from the past month.
Mileage: Yesterday I tallied up my miles for the week and they added up to 98. This is my highest week of mileage ever, and came after a string of weeks ranging from the high-70s to mid-80s.
I considered being bummed that I couldn’t have found two extra miles to make it an even hundred, but truthfully, it might have been anywhere from 96 to 100 and there’s no earthly reason to give it another thought.
Right now I am focusing more on “time on feet” than on actual miles. The road conditions are too certifiably dreadful to do otherwise: we have received 49 inches of snow so far this November (and our ski area currently has more snow than any other in the nation).
Turkey Trot: We had a 5K Turkey Trot on Thursday. About 75% of the course entailed breaking trail through 1.5 feet of snow. The winning time was 25:20, by a guy who usually runs in the 17-18-minute range for 5K. LOL. I ran 25:35. It was exhausting and hilly and I wiped out headfirst into the snow a couple times and dearly wanted to punch someone. After the run, my seething irritation with the conditions was ameliorated by a $50 gift certificate for pizza.
Running conditions: The roads are not pedestrian/runner-friendly in the least anymore. Sidewalks and shoulders cease to exist as the plows bury them in still more snow.
Which brings me to my next grievance — my mortal enemies: THE PLOWS.
After they clear the snow directly onto the sidewalk, the plows somehow create an ice sheet on the roads that necessitates wearing spikes all the time. Also, in the wee hours of the morning, I am out there with what seems to be approximately seven thousand plows. Roughly every quarter mile, there is a plow camped out perpendicular to the flow of traffic, zooming back and forth in the middle of the road, beeping, rumbling, being loud, and acting ruthlessly eager to flatten anything in its way. I sympathize intensely with Frogger at these moments.
There is lots of slipping and falling, lots of diving into snow berms to avoid slaughter by Subaru. Often, it is glorious and lovely, and I can see the stars and watch bald eagles disturb the boughs of spruce trees as they take flight, causing showers of what must surely be magical snowy fairy dust. Other times I want to lie down and beat the road with my fists and weep spectacularly until April.
Today, the rain returned. RAIN ON TOP OF FOUR FEET OF SNOW. FUNNY JOKE.
I ran over the bridge this morning, slipping and sliding and sinking into freezing slush the entire way. When I got to the end of the bridge, a PLOW swooshed by and launched a tidal wave of slush over and onto my head and body. I screamed louder than Regina George in Mean Girls when she finds out Lindsay Lohan has been feeding her weight gain bars. Then, sputtering and shivering and freshly committed to punching a dent in the hood of every plow truck I see, I ran to the gym and finished today’s job on the treadmill because I am a sissy and my feet were cold.