The hardest part my training schedule is reigning in my weekend fun. Blame it on wine. No, wait. Wine is not the real enemy here. It’s happiness. Happiness is the downfall of my training.

Friends, barbecues, sunsets, outdoor movie nights, hilarious conversations, and football. Wine goes well with all of these activities to say nothing of the natural pairing of a cold beer after an ocean swim. Damn you, moments filled with utter happiness! Damn you.

Along this journey so far, I’m getting in touch with myself again. I feel the burn and the pain of the workouts, I feel the guilt of missing one and the satisfaction of completing one. Another delightful surprise is rediscovering that my body parts can talk to me. And in some cases, scream.

For instance, this is what will happen on tonight’s run.

Stomach: Here’s a little throw up for you. That’s for the wine you drank last night. Payback is a bitch.

Lungs: It burns. It burns in here! Where is all the air? Are we in some sort of decompression chamber?

Legs: We supported your idiotic decision to play tennis as if you had the skills of Sharapova yesterday, but we’re not going one step more than three miles today. If the Brain gets on it’s power trip, prepare for collapse. You’re not 25 years old anymore.

Brain: Keep going! What? No, no, I’m pretty sure we’re still 25 years old! Ignore the legs, those whiners have been giving us shit for years.

Heart: Sure, now you regret those French fries. Also, stop with the Elton John already. Play something by Public Enemy or Jay-Z….. much better. Okay, let’s do this.

So, me and my body parts are going to finish this run, have a sensible dinner and bask in the afterglow of a weekend of happiness and a horrible but necessary workout.

Onward.