So yes: Guilt. And by this I mean the skipped workout kind.
Like when work sends you to San Antonio to present your public relations plan to the entire Americas leadership team and all kinds of unexpected emergencies pop up so you never get to put your running shoes on even though you packed them with the best of intentions.
|This was my one sit-down meal in San Antonio. It was Spam fried rice, no surprise.|
And then you return to find your new hometown's most iconic musician has died unexpectedly, so instead of swimming, you must dance in the street to celebrate his life.
And then there is an evening cooking class -- which is an absolute necessity since you are learning to make gluten-free pasta and you can't remember the last time you were able to eat fresh pasta so this is pretty much a miracle.
And then your first networking dinner with journalists in your new industry starts late because of traffic and goes longer than originally planned because of white chocolate mousse and tapioca pudding with avocado lime sorbet.
I'm telling myself it's fine. Vineman isn't until July. Life happens, and sometimes it's better to choose sleep than to try to stay up ridiculously late or wake up ridiculously early just to get a workout in.
But the guilt is still there. And also, just as I typed that, one of my cats started gagging and almost barfed on my bed. I feel judged.