To the physical therapist über-runner treating my shinsplints 15 years ago who looked me up and down and said, "Honey, you're just not built for running":

Kiss my medallion, dude.
Yeah, my face is red and I run like a girl.
But I'm a fast girl and I finished.

Also, this photo is the final proof to you all that I should never knit lace sleeves again. Those are some serious shoulders, dude.

And...we're back. Knitting content after an OMGWTF moment and a plea for a wee bit of assistance.

I should preface all of this by saying, despite my powerlifting past (true!) and the fact that I've ridden a century in my lifetime and did the second 3-hundred-holy-f***-you're-kidding-me AIDS Ride way back in the nineties, I am SO not an athlete. I was the kid who no one wanted on their team because I ran out of breath too fast, I was too short to shoot, and most of all, I was too slow to nail anything but my own shins. So I don't actually run superfast compared to female runners who take this thing very seriously, and as far as distance is concerned, I have never in my life been able to run more than two miles. Until a few weeks ago, when I decided that I should take the 5K I had just run without falling on my head (OMGWTFBBQthatwasME!) and do it with a number on my chest and a whole street full of other people wanting to accomplish the same goal. I blame Rachael.

So, with three weeks of training and a realisation that running keeps the panicky moments from getting too hairy (I am not a calm person these days), I decided to run the Montreal Oasis Marathon 5K. And I finished it. In my usual 10-minute-mile pace, which was, amazingly enough, in the top half of times for women 40-44 years old, but I finished it.

(Yeah, I'm so old that when I participate in a run, they call me a Senior or a Master. For obvious reasons, I prefer Master. Spiff disagrees.)

And since I crossed that finish line inside the Olympic Stadium not only without dying or puking, but with a healthy dose of elation, I decided that, when a friend asked me if I was running the CIBC Run for the Cure, I would say, "Why, yes, indeedy, I am." (Ran to go register immediately after conversation...nothing like seat-of-the-pants participation...) The CIBC Run for the Cure is held in cities all across Canada on October 5 and benefits breast cancer research. Knitty takes a team every year to run it in Toronto, and now I'm going to do it too, in Montréal.

It's only 5K. And I'm a damned lucky person for getting to say "it's only 5K" instead of having no choice but to say "it's only a breast." My two grandmothers both had breast cancer, though they died of other simultaneously occurring cancers, my boss at Harvard beat the disease and is still going strong, and my good friend Hélène has been fighting the disease for the past year. She's winning too, but it's been a scary round of surgeries and treatment that has not ended yet. She is my biggest inspiration to run. Because I can. It's only 5K, I'm healthy, and while I will never win my races, I can try to help women fighting this shitty disease to win theirs. I can do that much. And I will finish with the hope that this run will get us closer to finishing off breast cancer for good.

If you feel so inclined, please sponsor me and donate online here. Let's rock the Run, dudes.

In knitting news, there is an obscene amount of bulky yarn in my house now, thanks to the online "oooh, sale yarn" sinkhole known as WEBS. Spiff thinks I'm using it as insulating material, but I assure you that it is going to turn into sweaters, because not only do I finish races, I nearly almost whoa they're over a third of the way done finish sleeves.

This is the real colour.
And Durrow's sleeve cables rock my world.
Jodi, you're a genius.

You may also have heard a rumour that the SpindiCate Hitcher decided to go live at Ariadne Knits to indoctrinate a few spinners. It's true. For those of you who don't know the story, this wheel was first sent to my friend Etherknitter Laurie by our mutual friend Mamacate in order to...heu...encourage her to spin. The caveat was that once she learned, she had to pass it on to another unsuspecting fool who looked ripe for the converting. That would be me. But first she had to leave her mark on the wheel. She left a beaded loop with gold beads representing the hearts of the spinners the wheel had touched so far. That's because Laurie is beautiful, generous, and brings a gorgeous twist to everything she touches. When this wheel arrived on my doorstep from Massachusetts, I cried. And then I learned to spin. And then I cried some more. (I may also have kicked a wheel, thrown fibre across a room, and swore in ways that small children should not hear but did.) But I got over it, made yarn, and knit with it. And now I'm a lifer. So much so that even though a financial shitstorm is causing me to miss Rhinebeck this year, my stash barely feels the pinch.

Which, of course, means that it's time for the wheel to move on and teach a few other people how to have Eureka! yarnmaking moments. Complete with a big bag of fibre from my personal stash. And what was the mark that I left on the wheel?

The Traveling Hitcher in her new home.
Can you see the mark?

There you go, that's more like it.
I gave her a tattoo. It's Cate-approved,
and the French is correct, so don't you Louisianans
be telling me it's "les," not "le." Talk to my French editor.
He wields one mean baguette and he's not afraid to use it.

I'll be back when the sleeves are done. Meanwhile, if any of you have any good tips on improving short-term memory, I'd appreciate hearing about them. I had the scariest brain blip I've had in a long time, and while my neurologist told me I'd be having moments like this, he didn't tell me it would endanger life and limb.

Our smoke alarm works, my husband is quick
to put out flames, and I need this sign.

Just say no to multi-tasking, dudes. Just say no. Trust me on this one. No one was hurt, but the stove hood had to be scrubbed down, and I'm told the fright level was spectactularly high.

Thanks for sticking with me even though I post so infrequently. I'll do my best to stick with you, too. I have to. I've got seven bulky sweaters to knit, a birthday party for my TEN YEAR OLD OMGWTFhowdidthathappen to host and a 5K to run. Peace (and fire...thankyouthankyouthankyouSpiff) out.