Pop Quiz: What Would You Do Wednesday

My alarm was set for 4:45 a.m. but I started to toss at 4:15. I saw the clock at 4:25 and again at 4:35. But I waited. Waited for the ring that would signal me to get out of bed.

I'm still not used to the alarm selection on my phone — it's kind and not jolting — but I did spring when I heard it. I went downstairs, slipped on some shoes and headed outside. I started my car and headed back inside. Bathroom break, a change of clothes and a swallow of vitamins.

Oh, coffee cake. I found it in the freezer when I was cleaning it out. Sourdough Banana. A quick bite. Just one. It was time to go.

I headed to the downtown YMCA, which opens at 4:30 a.m., to run on the treadmill. The one in the basement is no longer good for running, and the cold temperatures (low teens, real feel in single digits) plus still icy roads deterred me from going outside. I listened to "The Wild" on the short drive there, one hand on my Nuun bottle. I had picked Cherry Limeade knowing I would need the caffeine.

5:05 a.m. the clock on my car read as I pulled into the eerily empty parking lot. The cold must have kept people in bed, I reasoned. I know it was slow at the branch where I teach on Monday after the snow. I stumbled to the door, pulled the handle and nothing.

I looked up.

Ah, hell. No. HELL NO.

So what's a mother runner to do?

A. Go home and get back in bed. Unplanned rest day it is!

B. Go home, grab warmer clothes (and risk waking up the family) and run outside.

C. Spend the drive home reworking the schedule to run later. Runch, perhaps?

D. Break down the door and run anyway. Who needs water to run on the treadmill?!

The Ride Up: Elevator Woes {A What Would You Do Post}

Warning: This post will most definitely include ranting and most likely cursing. Proceed as you will.

It was another day grabbing lunch at the hospital.

I had good intentions, of course, of packing food today but time got away. One moment, it was 7:10 a.m. and I was taking a bath with Hulk, Iron Man and Miles and the next moment it was 8:30. A shot of adrenaline shoots straight from my brain to my ass to get it moving. I had a midwife appointment at 9:15 clear on the other side of two but they like to tell you it's 15 minutes earlier in reminders. So, I think I have a half-hour to get Miles in the car, drive to daycare, get Miles into daycare, kiss him goodbye and drive a half-hour to the office. It's not going to happen, I know, but I can do my best to be only a little bit late. However, Miles doesn't get the memo about "we need to go now" and is asking what he can take to daycare. A sword? A pumpkin? A cuddly. Kid, just get in the damn car. We need to go.

And, so, yeah, I didn't pack my lunch.

Just after noon, my work husband and I head to get lunch. We walk less than two blocks into the hospital, maneuver through the small ER and take the elevator to the basement. We navigate the crowd of people, select the best of the worst and begin to make our way back.

On the elevator.

We follow a small throng of female workers into the small space. "Six!" "Four, please." "What floor do you need?"

"One," we tell her.

And that's when it happened. The "it" that has me feeling stabby and defensive and all "I need to blog about this for validation."

A woman in the back corner, wearing dark blue scrubs and carrying a Styrofoam container, spoke up. "You could have probably taken the stairs for one."

"Yeah, I could have," I tell her.

"You know, you probably should have," she tells my work husband and me.

Uh, excuse me. I know what I should and should not do – not you. So why don't you hold yourself together and shut the front door?

Now, I will say that taking the stairs is a nice idea. I do it – sometimes. Other times, I don't really feel like it. I want to hold my food and stand in one place while a machine moves me to another place. It's easier, definitely, and in terms of proximity to exits, the elevator is more convenient.

Plus, I really fucking hate climbing steps. I know, I know. I have no problem running 5 miles – I even like doing it – but walking steps makes me tired.

I had no idea how to react to the woman. I felt agitated and defensive. How dare she judge me for my choices? So I said the most ridiculous thing in the most ostentatious voice I could summon.

"Well, I got up at 5 a.m. and ran 5 miles."

And then I walked out.

Tell me: What would you have done? And if you tell me take the stairs, I will ... umm ... not share my flank steak that was surprisingly delicious.