Terry Fox Is a Good Person

I was mad at Terry Fox last week.

See, I was supposed to go for my first big, 20-minutes-in-a-row, run and low and behold the Terry Fox Run was going on in MY park, the park where I run.

Sulking, I returned home.

Me: I can't run today.
Hubby: Why not?
Me: Because like, there's a real run going on in the park.
Hubby: Can't you blend in?
Me: Just don't joke. I can't run and it's because real runners are running in MY park.
Hubby: Then go for a run in the world.
Me: Don't toy with my emotions. I'm not there yet.

Off to the basement I sulked. I don't even think there's a better word for what I did, which is why I used it twice in the opening of this bloggy. Lip out, sighing heavily and feeling very sorry for myself, I went down to the basement and began cleaning the toy room.

From the basement I heard Kiddo #1 ask "Where's Mommy?"  When Husband replied to my whereabouts, I heard the gentle, excited jump of her feet while she bounced "That means there's a play date coming! I'm gonna go clean my room!"

Welcome to Real House: you know we're friends when  that's what you see when you arrive. Fake House, as dubbed by my brother, is the way your house looks for holidays, photo shoots and strangers. Real House is the everyday way you live.

Then I started to really be mad at Terry Fox. I mean, here was is this guy who is a Canadian Icon, running for Cancer research, running after he lost his leg, and the running no matter what and then dying because he was running and it spread to his lungs, and HE is the one keeping ME from running (not for Cancer research, no, I run so that I can pretend that my house is clean while I'm gone).

And worst of all, I now have to do the cleaning that I run to avoid doing, because I can't run.

GAH.

I'm a bad person.