On saturday we met at Padden for an assortment of workouts tailored best for our schedules & training. Each woman in slick materials, compressions, etc. I in what they deemed indicative of 1984. I did what my body could handle at the "high" amount of mileage I've been maintaining - 50-56 mpw... 800's, 1200's, tempo's, repeat miles. It was good hill work, my hamstrings twinging in pre-pull weakness. After the workout I went home, brewed a cappucino, sliced fruit in yogurt, stood in the shower sipping coffee. My stepsister's wedding was a few hours away. I took a nap with Poops on my lap, yelping like a goat for my fingers on his chin until he choked, his throat so thick in fat he couldn't breathe as he lifted his jaw up to meet me. Got around to getting ready: black dress, dark lips. My father looked bomb - shiny shoes, dress pants, his shirt unbuttoned like some 70's manabouttown. Boxed white wine, a smorgasbord of family baked dishes, a couple tins of smoked salmon. A small child caught the bouquet aggressively. The men let the garter drop to the floor, where it laid, no one hungry for it, you know, classic letsmakeajokeaboutcommitment. The night ended softly. I felt like my father & I were gossiping queens, I, watchful of a look in his eyes like, Where's yours? The next morning I was bladetimed by friends coming from Seattle. We met for a 17-miler on the Urb & by the end were covered in mud. Walked around the city looking for christmas ideas; I successful in collecting my mother a group of penned letters from daughter to mother (c.1907) & a purple-dyed poodle hair scarf. We ate curry to get warm. Shared drinks at my bar, met with the newly engaged Will&Celina for dinner, talked wants/weddings/dates/venues/styles, leaving the most small space for talk on rock climbing/backcountry skiing/living in Germany.