Typically I step back from the hypocritical whining of the Monday-Morning Distressor. Yes, mondays are painful, dragging oneself to work after a weekend of whateverness, but they are also repetitive, predictable, and inevitable. There is rarely ever cause to fluster one’s emotions over the return of the work-week illusionstate.

But this was a weekend.

A real weekend. A painful weekend of late-dancing-or-driving-nights, ten-kilometer-early morning-runs, box-hauling afternoons, and long winded days of too much food that I wouldn’t normally eat.

This morning I woke up at 4:30, walking to get a glass of water from the bathroom, crashing into doors in a combination of groggy-barely-awakeness and I-can-feel-every-muscle-in-my-body pain-ness. That’s what the weekend did to me.

It’s not that I’m out of shape. It’s that these types of weekends are meant to be spread out over three or four. Saturday mornings are for visiting the pancake house for a stack of blueberry waffles, not moving six truckloads of moving boxes and dislodging someone’s trailer hitch from where it detatched from the bulb and rammed through the torn metal of his tailgate. Sunday afternoon are for sitting in Starbucks with a coffee and the weekender section of the newspaper, not running through the rolling river-valley of Red Deer. Friday nights, are meant for parties, which is where we were, and that’s okay, too.

It was all good. And every once in a while we need a weekend like that to remind us why we dislike Mondays, perhaps, occasionally: because we seem to be one step closer to the next painful weekend.

On a different note: Kudos out to Mom and Dad, and Aunt Laurie and Uncle Dale who all pledged us money for the run on Sunday. Our team raised a cool $300. And our event (the Red Deer Terry Fox Run) raised a whopping $23,000!