Before I forget, because forgetting things is my super-power, I’ll be hosting a Cherry Blossom meet-up this weekend in D.C. We’ll gather at the Potomac River Running D.C. store at 1 p.m. on Saturday, April 7. There will be conversation, snacks, and swag, including some of those rubber bracelets Sarah talked about during a recent podcast. No RSVP or ticket is required — but please leave a comment if you think you’ll drop in. I’d hate to run out of snacks.

And just FYI because it would be weird if it came up and I’d never mentioned it: April 7 is also my birthday. It’s not a big one; I won’t be moving up an age group. Being in a room full of BAMRs and with access to snacks is gift enough.

Right now, the weather folk are calling for *snow* in D.C. on Saturday. I’m sorry, you guys. I’m not saying that the frozen precipitation is all my fault — but I wouldn’t rule it out. This winter just won’t make like a tree and … it’s been so long since I’ve seen leaves that I can’t complete the saying without sobbing a little.

A recent long run. Note the grimy snow in the background.

We did have gorgeous (for us) spring weather for about ten hours on Easter Saturday. I felt almost naked in capris and a long-sleeved top during my quick six-miler. By Sunday, it was gray and gross again. Spring will bounce right back, I thought, as I laid out my running gear before bed, because I knew I had to get up early to get my Monday run done. At worst, it looked like it would be in the low 20s.

I didn’t even bother to look out of the window before strolling onto our back porch at 6 a.m. One step out and I nearly fell right on my rump because I slid in a 1/2” of snow. Which would later be an inch of snow, by the time I made it up to the track, made like a hamster on a wheel, and got home.

Fun.

My view from the track on Monday. Woo.

I know it will change. I do. It always does. Before I know it, we’ll have our two weeks of mud and then it’ll be summer. All I can do is run through it.

Woman can’t live by run alone, though. For the last two years or so, I’ve made sure to get some simple strength training in. My usual routine of bridges, squats, and fire hydrants had started to bore the stuffing out of me so I was super glad to see Dimity’s strength routine pop into my email. While I don’t do every exercise on the sheet — planks of any variety aggravate my chronically wonky shoulder — I spend about 30 minutes on non-running mornings working my muscles in a non-running way. That half-hour spent grunting on my bedroom floor (get your mind out of the gutter) seem to help keep all of my aging parts in working order.

Of course, now that I’ve said that, I’ll likely develop a chronic use injury. The universe can’t resist a sweet, ironic burn.

Much like Dimity’s weimaraner Mason, my corgi Lucy can’t resist “helping” with clamshells.

While I’m looking forward to running around the Tidal Basin and under the cherry blossoms this weekend, I’m really, really looking forward to watching the Boston marathon on April 16. I’m pulling for my bestie Shalane (if we’re in the same picture, we’re best friends, right?). I’d be lying, though, if I didn’t admit that I also want Desiree Linden to cross the line first.

As much as I love Shalane, Deena, Sara Hall, and Molly Huddle, Des has always been the runner I aspire to be. She grinds out the work without ever seeming worn down by it and clearly means business from the moment the gun goes off. Off the track, she hangs with her dogs, reads, and tweets — just like me, come to think of it. We’re totally twinsies, except for pretty much everything but dogs, books, and twitter.

I suspect I’ll be surprised by who the winner is. I’m certain I won’t be surprised if it snows on Patriots’ Day. That’s almost a garauntee.

So will I see you in D.C.? And who do you want to see win Boston?