Foiled

You know what they say about even the best laid plans?  Actually, I didn't know what the end of that idiom was and had to google it.  So for your edification, what they say about the best laid plans is:

The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray.

 

 

Turning an idiom into reality: nailed it! 

I set off from Maine at 6:30am yesterday and touched down at 4:15pm local time in LA.  With 8pm dinner plans, I was confident I'd get my run in and continue to be on track with my workouts.  If you've ever been to LA, perhaps you can already see the flaw in this logic.

 

I collected my bags and headed to the rental car desk, where I entered my own personal episode of Seinfeld:

 



"You see, you know how to take the reservation, you just don't know how to hold the reservation. And that's really the most important part of the reservation: the holding. Anybody can just take them."

Luckily I was able to snag at upgrade because they were out of compacts, and I'll be pimping around LA in a sweeeeeeeeeet Mitsubishi Galant for the weekend.

Finally, I hit the 405 (I'm lying - first I got lost in Inglewood.  If you've heard of a place because it's mentioned in a rap song, you probably don't want to get lost there...) and proceeded the 7 miles to my hotel.  It took almost an hour.  As it turns out, people aren't kidding about LA traffic.  Which is weird, since the highway ("freeway" colloquially... because of course LA people need to have their own special name for a highway...) has 6 lanes in each direction.  How do you pick which lane to be in when there are six?!

The point is, by the time I finally arrived at my hotel, dirty from 13 hours of travel, it was 7pm and I had a dinner at 8pm.  The run was not to be.  This, naturally, left me feeling resentful towards LA, because WHY WOULD IT TAKE 3 HOURS TO GET MY BAG, GET MY CAR, AND DRIVE 7 MILES?  HOW DO PEOPLE LIVE LIKE THIS?!  Luckily, my rage was placated by my hotel, which is not terrible:

I feel like I'm on Spring Break! I should wear a wet t-shirt to work!

So, I missed a workout, despite all of the advanced planning I did to make my workouts happen.  But you know what they say about good intentions?  (This one I did know ahead of time).  The road to hell is paved with them.  I was going to hell anyway, so here's hoping there are water fountains along that road, in which case I'll run there and make up those missed 7 miles after all!  How far is it to hell, anyway?

(I did actually make it to the hotel gym this morning before I had to come into the office.  The hotel gym is an Equinox.  So I'll save "A Love Letter to Equinox" for a separate blog post.)