One of the nice things about being self-employed is that if I decide, "Omigawd I cannot be trusted to dress myself and I must go to Montreal and have the daughter pick out some clothes for me" then I am free to drop things and do that.

One of the bad things about being self-employed is that if I do not work I do not get paid. Thus, I have been forced to work overtime this past week to clear up all my work so I will actually have enough money to buy some new clothes when I hit the big city in a few days.

I am greatly looking forward to hanging with the daughter and dragging her through 321 stores in which I will try on approximately 1,293 articles of clothing. If past experience holds, after all that effort I will probably end up buying exactly two things.

I'm sure it's just a co-incidence that the daughter broke out in hives right about the time I said I was coming in to Montreal to stay a few days with her and that I wanted her to help me clothes shop.

Purely co-incidental.

In addition to the clothing I have decided to bite the bullet and go to an actual big city running store to get myself properly fitted for running shoes. I know there are cheaper places to buy running shoes, but I also know my last two pairs haven't been quite right.

I bought them at a local sports store that was staffed by deeply disinterested teenagers and while they kind of sort of fit, I know from a wonderful pair of walking shoes I bought in Montreal that it's possible to do better.

If I am going to put my aged carcass through both the training for a 10K and the sort of upper body torture that goes into trying for a pull-up, then I have to start taking better care of said aged carcass. My feet and knees are being Whiney McWhineypusses about the current shoes. I have decided to listen to them. I may have to sell the spousal unit into white slavery to pay for these shoes, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Ah, what else? Well, Friday after running three miles and working out for over an hour, I drove 45 minutes to a nearby shopping centre and gave blood. These things always seem like such a good idea at the time.

As he was drawing the needle from my arm, then slapping on some folded gauze, the nurse warned me that I wasn't to do anything strenuous for at least six hours because I could die from a stroke or a heart attack.

"You're really putting this blood donation thing in a good light," I told him, solemnly. Then when I went to stand up my knees turned completely to rubber because apparently I have turned into a 50 something drama queen. I ended up stretched out on a chaise lounge sort of dealie with a cold compress on my forehead being tut tutted over by a bunch of lovely women in their late 60's.

I was not allowed to leave until I could convince these ladies that I was indeed alright. That involved walking around vigourously, eating a doughnut greasy enough to induce a heart attack right on the spot and washing it down with two bottles of fruit juice. Yes, I bought my freedom with a doughnut. I am not proud of this.

Last Wednesday, though, well last Wednesday shines like a beacon in my life. It started out poorly, with a 45 minute drive to sign a bunch of legal papers. Of course, on the drive home what did I hit but whiteout conditions? Oh, man, it was white knuckle city all the way with visibility in front of the Marnmobile not greater than a few feet for most of the drive.

And then, when I hit the valley where I live, the snow storm ended. Just like that. It was as if a curtain was pulled aside and there was the world again. I have never been so happy to see the world.

The flag was up on my mailbox when I got home, and in it was a surprise parcel from my friend, Anne, maid of honour at my wedding over 30 years ago. I almost fainted when I opened the box to find it contained Tim Tams, Australian Food of the Gods. In her letter Anne said one of her other friends went on a vacation to Oz and Anne had her pick up some Tim Tams.

This, this is the sort of friend you want in your life.

I would show you a picture of the Tim Tams but they have disappeared under mysterious conditions. I see where you're looking. That's not a chocolate coating on my lips. No, it's, um, a new lipstick I'm trying. Yeah. That's it. A new lipstick.

That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 318.94 miles. Double Duckage. My joy knows no bounds.