Treadmill run and onward to the "big" city

I got up ridiculously early yesterday morning, ate a rice cake with peanut butter (out of bread, sigh, sigh), walked the dog in the moonlight and stuffed the back of the car with emergency cold weather gear for my trip to Anchorage to pick up my son.

Then I hit the gym for a short-but-killer-sweet treadmill work out. Because I didn’t have much time, I did speedwork: 8 x 2 minute intervals at 7 minute pace, followed by 1 minute recovery at 9:30 pace, on a 1% incline. Warm-up and warm-down and I was done in less than 40 minutes.

It was just getting light as I began the drive, that hazy time between dust and dawn, the moon still out, everything hushed and quiet and almost no other cars around. I stopped by Kenai Lake (“Avalance Area: Do Not Stop” the sign said, hee, hee) and snapped these pictures of the moon behind the mountains:

The roads were icy in places and covered in snow, but I only slid once and thankfully no one else was around.

Two and a half laters, I was in Anchorage, stuck behind my first traffic light in 3 1/2 months. Ugh. I hadn’t realized how ugly traffic is, all of us driving, driving around buying, buying things we really don’t need. Really depressed me.

So I cheered myself up by doing what any person would do who had been stuck in a small town for almost a quarter of a year: I went shopping.

And I shopped, baby. I walked around the stores dazzled by the allure of so many things I didn’t really need but suddenly wanted.

But I stuck to my list and bought mostly practical things: Tons of fresh veggies and fruits (yum!), cagefree eggs for only $2 (they’re $5 down here), a desk lamp, kitty litter and doggie chew bones, etc.

And this. Oh this I have been dreaming of this for months:

Don’t snicker! You might not think vacuuming is fun, but try getting by without one when you’ve got a dog and two cats and you’ll suddenly start fantasizing about them in the oddest places.

I also stocked up on my guilty pleasures:

And last but not least:

I was hoping to catch my friend S for lunch but alas, she had to close on her condo, so I picked up my son from his friend’s house and we headed back down over the icy roads to Seward. The traffic was heavier coming back; by heavier I mean maybe we’d see a car every 20 minutes or so, hee, hee. Some of those SUVs and pickup trucks cruised past us going at least 70. Couldn’t believe it. I kept it to a conservative 55-60 mph. I very much wanted to live to use my vacuum and eat my chocolate.

Caught the sunset when I stopped at the side of the road so that my son could go to the bathroom in the brush (no sissy rest stops for this kid, probably because there are no sissy rest stops–it’s unAlaskan to pee in comfort during a road trip).

Got home right at pitch dark, so I timed the day perfectly. It was cold in Seward with high winds, and unloading the car was the least enjoyable part of the day.

But later, the dog chewed on her new bone, the cats scratched on their new pad, I curled on the couch with a new book and my son escaped into his room, doing whatever 19-year-old boys do when they’re stuck in a small and isolated town for Christmas break with only their mothers for company.

2 thoughts on “Treadmill run and onward to the "big" city

  1. ajh

    Last is certainly not least! I love reading blogs where the writer's lives are very different from mine and yours certainly fits the bill. I am jealous as I would love to live in Alaska! Just for a year……….but Vermont is a pretty great place to live too. Your blog makes me “homesick” for my year in the north. Do you love it? What was your new book? I am just finishing Catching Genius. It started slow but has gotten quite good. Don't know what I will pick up next.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s