I had no choice really. I was forced despite my better judgment. I wanted to run - should have run - but I didn't.

I missed the group run for the first time yesterday - though I swear I had good reason. I was not out drinking or stealing coasters from local restaurants. I wasn't napping or getting up close and personal with a fried bologna sandwich.

No, all those things I love were left undone this week (okay, maybe I had a couple drinks). It's life - it gets busy. But still I feel guilty.

Add to that the fact that my couch (you remember Cocoa Microfiber, Jr. don't you?) now suddenly feels neglected and is no longer speaking to me.

Feeling overwrought this morning on my way to work, I decided to assuage my inner pain with the most splendid of all caffeinated drinks: the Dunkin' Donuts Turbo Ice.

Criticize the chain coffee and donut shops if you must, but I swear to you there is no heaven without a Turbo in it.

So I step to the counter.

Guy working: "What can I get you?"

Me: "A large Turbo Ice, please, with cream and sugar and a shot of caramel [just for fun]."

Guy working makes a quick - but obvious - face of disgust.

I know that face. It's the face I get when I, for example, tell people I can't eat baklava because it reminds me of cadaver skin (not that I really know what cadaver skin is like).

When I call the guy out on the face he says people are always so serious and he's just making "nice faces."

Sure. Whatever.

Tell me my pants make me look fat - tell me I don't know how to dress myself - tell me I'll never be able to run a 10K. But please, don't insult my Turbo.