I'm sure I could come up with a lot more than three things that drive me crazy about being married to an ultrarunner, but these ones are fresh in my mind:
One: Your husband can eat anything he wants - in fact, is actively encouraged by his coach to eat as many saturated fats as possible - and he still loses weight.
Two: Your well-intentioned mother-in-law, who hates to see her son losing weight, sends all kinds of delicious treats in the mail for your husband (and, inevitably, you) to nosh on. Last month, it was a box of four different desserts (brownies, cookies, chocolate cake, and individual chocolate cakes); this month, it's eighteen pounds of Easter candy.
Three: You have two hours, give or take, every evening to spend with your husband after the offspring goes to bed. You turn to him to strike up a conversation, and you find yourself looking at this:
No, your husband is not being treated for a rare illness that causes him to lose weight simply by breathing. He is merely using his altitude simulator and pulse oximeter, which he will be doing for one hour, every night, for the next two months. But don't worry, it's six minutes on, four off, so as long as you can keep your conversation to four-minute bursts, you're good to go!
And you thought your husband's golf habit was annoying...