3.2 vs. 6.55

Update on my sweat life (please see Nov. 12, 2009 post if you are unfamiliar with this term, coined by Yours Truly):

Saturday: ran 6 miles (didn't stretch afterward, bad girl)
Sunday: no running
Monday: no exercise
Tuesday: "rode" 30 minutes on the stationary bike at the gym
Wednesday: nothin'
Thursday: ran 6 slow miles, no fun at all (also didn't stretch afterward)

Which brings us to today, Friday. I have to run 6.55 miles (to be exact) in the St. Louis Marathon Relay on Sunday. I am not running tomorrow. Don't have time, and it would be a bad idea before race day. So I'm thinking, "Bails, you should really, really run today." At which point I do what? That's right, call my dad and ask for permission not to run. What? He's the more competitive, better runner than me, i.e. running expert. If anyone has the authority to grant a day off, it's Dad.

I call Dad's cell phone, Mom answers. "I have a question for Dad." "Okay, he's driving, I'll ask him." I explain my situation.

Dad's response? An instant "She should skip today." Not just "She can skip today," no no, "She should skip." As in it would be the right thing to do. As in Dad says so.

Let's just say I had a beer cracked open within minutes. Little measures up to your dad granting you permission to sit on your ass, and furthermore declaring this as the right thing to do. Thanks, Pops. I raise my Michelob Ultra (or two) to you.