I need a happy pill.

I need a happy pill.

Well, that was fast.  Two weeks ago I brazenly declared Eric and myself in full-bore preparation for an April Half Ironman.  That was before my hormones tightened the screw on me. So we pushed it back to May, which now even seems fairly remote as far as possibilities...
Love me, love my feet.

Love me, love my feet.

Eric loves me. He really, really loves me. I know this because, at least once a week, he massages my feet for 1.5 hours.  Not 15 minutes.  Not 1 hour.  A full 1.5 hours. My feet aren’t hideous, but they aren’t the prettiest part of me either.  I have two...