Run Eat Knit

Let me just say this right from the start – I wish the title said Eat Knit Run in that order.  But it doesn’t.  For good reason.  But let me back up for a minute.  Let’s talk about knitting.  What is it about yarn and 2 (or 5) sticks that brings so much happiness, such joie de vivre, such – je ne sias quoi?  And what’s up with all the French lingo?

Whatever your pleasure – socks, scarves, sweaters, dishcloths, geegaws – there isn’t anything better than a weekend filled with fiber and needles.   Except maybe football, fiber, and needles.  Except maybe FOOD, football, fiber, and needles.  However, nothing makes me fatter faster than sitting on my ass all day, snarfing Cheeze Whiz and Ritz, and wielding nothing heavier than a Size 1 DPN.

So – I run.  I’ve been a runner for over 25 years, which tells you I am no longer (and never was) in the Elite group.   And while my pace is not jackrabbit speed, I’m considered reasonably fast and don’t completely embarrass myself in a 5K.  I’ve been known to win a medal or 2 in my age group.   It’s not too hard if you know what you are doing.  It’s pretty easy to identify and take out all the other old chicks in the race.  An “accidental” kick to the Achilles, or elbow to the kidneys should do it.   If she looks the least bit wrinkly, her saggy ass is mine.

Anyhoo, I run.  Alot.  I run because I love it.  But I also run to support my weekly Dunkin’ Donuts Vanilla Kreme Filled habit without blowing up like the Michelin Man. 

And best of all, I can plant my butt on the couch for some Monday Night Football, a beer, and my yarn o’ the month.   Run.  Eat.  Knit.


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