Earlier this week, I had a dream that I had most of my back teeth on my left side removed. I felt sick with all the blood that pooled in my mouth and was nervous about my smile; however, I was cheered up by my nurses: all four golden girls.
And if that didn't disturb me enough, last night I had my first running dream in a while. I was due for one since I'm running Melbourne's half marathon (cheered on, I hope, by Ten Ton Tesso). I was running Brooke in this one. I have never run with Brooke, but she's my new running friend. She used to be (and still is) my Greyhound Cult Leader. She's new to running, and we've be talking about her joining a running group. She's out in Ipswich (all you need to know is that it's far). There's a Gale Force Running Squad out there, but Brooke is chicken. I've talked her into coming into town for the GFRS's women-only Friday session to get her familiar with a speed session, but she has to plan a late arrival at work. We're working on the logistics.
Now you know Brooke. Back to the dream. We're both in Melbourne running the 9 km race. That's right, 9 km. And we ran as fast as we could to beat the heat. The heat was personified a bit. It was like running to beat a storm. There was some physical entity that could catch us, and it was heat. Go figure. The weird part was that our running as fast as we could was more like how a child runs. We were all knees and elbows. And we were climbing over things. This race must have been a bee-line race. I remember getting caught in open and abandoned suitcases.
At the end of the 9 km race, I realised that I had no idea how we did because there were no kilometre markers. I also had a boo-boo on my toe, but I pierced it and brown goo came out.
What does it all mean?
1) That I need to shut my bloody trap around old ladies?
2) That I only need to run as fast as I can if I enjoy it like kids do? that I'll be packing my bags for the US before I know it? Oh, and I store chocolate in my toe?
Nuh-night, Freudian Puss Penis...er... Puss.