Gang aft agley, my plans and schemes worthy of neither mice nor men

If wishes were horses then beggars would ride.
If turnips were swords I’d have one by my side.
If ‘ifs’ and ‘ands’ were pots and pans
There would be no need for tinker’s hands!

–Scottish Nursery Rhyme

Despite my wishes and desires and hopes and dreams and whining and wallowing, I find the scales show I have not lost weight but am actually heavier than I’ve been in years. I’m now 30 pounds overweight and lumbering and depressed and in some sort of emotional freefall.

The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley

–“To A Mouse” by Scottish Poet Robert Morse

Adding to that woe is me-ism, I made the mistake of trying to pick up my bib for tomorrow’s 12K (what is it with these atypical distances?!). The drive out to Glendale to A Runner’s Circle was snafu’d by a road work construction project right outside the store front. This prompted three lanes of traffic plus a freeway off ramp to merge into one lane and it took me almost 40 minutes to funnel through the last quarter mile.

When I parked and got to the race tent, I was told since I was a late sign-up and my shirt wasn’t guaranteed I’d have to see if I could pick one up tomorrow… meaning the recommendation to pickup my bib today rather than on race morning to avoid possible crowds was a crock of, well, one of three apparently apocryphal sign language gestures. I always thought it was this:

Turns out “manure” is officially THIS in American Sign Language (and I think also in British Sign Language):

Regardless, in driving home from the packet pickup, I hit every red light imaginable and probably some that are beyond sight and sound and imagination.  What should have been a relatively quick out and back to get a packet for race day wound up taking three hours.  I might as well have been on the SS Minnow.

What’s the point of all this?  I don’t know.  I never seem to know.  Maybe it’s all just… horse pucky.  I suspect there may be some of that quite literally on the trail run tomorrow.