My Running Legs Are Powered By The Promise of Almond Croissants

So, there's this run I like to do from my house to the coffee shop that makes the almond croissants.   It's a gorgeous run. It traces the shoreline for the first half. It ends at the coffee shop that makes the almond croissants.  The views of the Olympic Mountains can be amazing on a clear morning. It ends at the coffee shop that makes the almond croissants.  I run past horses out in their pastures, ponds with ducks swimming in circles, sheep hanging out in the field, and herons standing in the shallows of the water waiting for their breakfast to swim by. But, best of all, IT ENDS AT THE COFFEE SHOP THAT MAKES THE ALMOND CROISSANTS*!!!

And, whenever I run there, I order an almond croissant, with abandon, because, 1) Jon and the kids come and pick me up so I don't have to run home with a belly full of awesomeness and 2) I thought I was running a nine mile route. Which, in my book, is plenty of mileage to justify inhaling a flaky buttery pastry stuffed full of almond paste while knocking back mug after mug of coffee. (Dude! Up high for free refills!) But I was wrong.  It's not a nine mile route.  It's a 43.4 mile route.  Which, according to RunKeeper on my phone, I ran in under two hours this weekend.  So, basically I looked like this:



But way cooler, because I maintained that pace for 43.4 miles. (In your face Usain Bolt!) Because technology doesn't lie.

And then, after collapsing  sweatily, in a chair surrounded by plates of veggie quiche, almond croissants and mugs of coffee, I had this conversation with Katie:

Me: (shoveling almond croissant AND veggie quiche into my mouth, because I just ran 43.4 miles) I ran 43.4 miles! That means I can eat anything I want!

Katie: (pausing in the careful, and delicate, eating of her grapes) No you can't.

Me: (still shoveling and guzzling) Yes I can!

Katie: (placing her grape, carefully, back down on her plate) No, Mommy, you can't.

Me: (adding an extremely attractive "Pshaw! Whatever!" look to my shoveling and guzzling) Yes. I can. My phone said so!

Katie: No, you can't, because you can't eat 100 hats. (And then she went back to eating her grapes. Victoriously.)


Well played my Katie kid. Well played indeed.





*And, dude, I am not kidding. These almond croissants are almost as good as the croissants they used to sell at the other coffee shop with the church pew, which was completely awesome because my feet could touch the ground and I could spread out my papers on either side of me while I wrote so my fork could have maximum access to the most wonderful almond croissants IN THE WORLD! But then the owner sold the coffee shop and someone else bought it and when the baker came to ask if they still were interested in ordering their almond croissants they said no. Because they were insane. And possibly, a closet almond-paste-wrapped-in-layers-of-flaky-buttery-pastry-drizzled-with-frosting-and-lightly-dusted-with-sliced-almonds-hater. And by possibly, I mean obviously. Obviously.

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