Serving on jury duty (maybe I should rename this blog entry) gave me the perfect excuse not to go to my Marines Corps mud run training tonight. I still have all the work to do that I didn't get to while I sat there listening to jurors being dismissed for all manner of illegal activities (who knew that in 2008 it would be so rare not to know someone in jail or not to have a child incarcerated for the 3 Strikes law). Back in the day, we used to get dismissed for having merely worked in a law office; today, you serve on a jury even if your husband is a Sheriff's deputy. That is desperation.

But I digress. I did get called to be an actual juror this time, so I felt I had the perfect excuse not to attend my training.  I needed to get home and do all my Northwest Voice work that didn't get done while I was serving.  HOWEVER...  I did not skip my workout.

I wish I had.

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After about the second mile of running through sand (it was a cardio day), over tables, up hills and down, I began to feel that pain in my hip from last week.  I determined that I was dying.  I wore shorts tonight for the first time, and if my thighs had rubbed together with any more fury, I'm certain I'd have burst into flames.

I took the short route today.  Leigh lets us decide which course to run -- a double line indicates a much longer route (for our "I ran 11 miles this weekend!" comrades), while the single line is in place for those of us with a singular goal: to survive.

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I am forced to take the day off tomorrow, but I'll be back on Wednesday. It isn't every day that my friends in Lonestar come to Bakersfield, so that's where I'll be -- the Crystal Palace, exercising my vocal chords.