Confession time: My running has been a little wiggity wack lately. My weeknight short runs are going great. Anything between three and five miles, anything that isn't a massive time commitment, is going perfect. I have a few routes I like a lot. I've found a five-mile speed interval run that makes even dreadmill time fly by. And I have a new running partner for my 5Ks - guess who.

Rory's great to run with. He does an 8-minute mile easily but he definitely speeds up when other dogs can see him. Showoff.

Long runs are a different story. It's just hard for me to schedule a long run. Waah waah, we're all busy, I know. Let me break it down.

- must be at least two hours after eating anything - preferably longer 
- must be right after feeding the baby, otherwise the "girls" get in the way
- Eli goes to bed at 7:00 so no matter what else is going on he needs a little top up at bedtime, so he can go to sleep with a full tum tum - therefore mama must be home at 7:00

Since Eli eats every three hours, setting aside a two-hour (give or take 20 minutes) chunk to run that coincides with his and my eating is tricky. Generally heading out late morning or late afternoon seems to work best - like 11:00 or 4:30ish.

Plus everything about long runs just seems annoying lately. I think I started training too early for this half. I thought giving myself extra training time was a smart move but lately I've just stopped getting jazzed up for a long run. I would rather do almost anything else: play with the baby, pull weeds on the lawn, organize my nail polish collection...anything that involves arsing around and not running.

Last weekend I skipped my long run. It was my birthday weekend. I was sleepy and had a headache and I just said "eff it". I figured skipping one long run wouldn't hurt. This weekend, I planned on going out before dinner on Saturday. Unfortunately there were a few things conspiring against me. I'd had a late lunch of McDonald's. Fries do not equal good pre-running fuel for this girl (or anyone). Secondly, I was late feeding Eli and ended up just heading out after 5:30. Six miles in, I looked at my watch. It was already about 6:30, so I would be able to finish about nine miles before it was time to head home and feed the vampire baby. There was a McBrick in my gut, my legs felt like concrete and I just wasn't feeling it whatsoever. I decided nine miles was pointless, anything short of double digits would suck, got sooky and went home.

Then I did what any mature adult would do. I cried, sniffed and bawled about how all my practice runs have been for shit and I'm not going to be able to do the half in two weeks. I whined about how I hate running and it sucks and it's stupid and I wasted 60 bucks on my registration fee.

Yesterday, once I had gotten over my tantrum, I wrote out a plan for the next two weeks that incorporates one - possibly two - long runs, a bunch of short ones, some cross-training, and some tapering next week. It also involves a trip to the Running Room today to buy a knee strap of some sort, because this boo-hooing about my persistently kind-of-but-not-really-sore knee has got to stop. If I can get my shit together for the next two weeks, I will take as long of a break from running as necessary to feel 100%.

Two weeks from today the half marathon will be over and that is the prize I have to keep my eyes on. Two weeks from today is Victoria Day and I'll be able to sit on the couch all day shoving all the food in my face while wearing my medal. And sweatpants. It'll be hot. I dedicate the next two weeks to getting back on track, getting my act together, and avoiding McDonald's.