And god said, Duh!
Today’s run almost didn’t happen due to a severe case of SBA (seriously bad attitude). Consider the pre-run conversation between Kevin and myself this morning:
He: What’s the matter? You look poopy.
Me: I feel like I’m wasting my time.
He: Why?
Me: Running. I’m still slower than a drunken hippo.
He: You’re not wasting your time.
Me: How do you know?
He: Ok, then, let’s do an experiment. Let’s sit around for a few weeks and eat cheese. Then see how we look.
OK, fine, point taken. So I went on my run today. Grudgingly. No runner’s high ensued. I did not enter the zone. I did not feel the romance, I did not catch the spark.
I pouted about it all day today whenever I remembered to think about it. I whined petulantly to myself. I shook my metaphorical fist at the big Dog. Why is my progress geologically slow? I jog my legs to the bone and what do I have to show for it? Cellulite! And what about my allergies? I think I should get extra endorphins or something for running with those. Hazard pay for risking Death By Weeds every day.
After a day of feeling exquisitely sorry for myself, I came home, checked my email… and got a big, fat, well-deserved smack on the head from Dog.
Between 8 am this morning and 5 pm this afternoon, my Race for the Cure donation tally went from 78% to 101%!
Yes sir may I have another!
Big love to today’s donors:
- Dad & Jo
- Jami Pot Pie
Way to remind me what all this training shit is really for, my beautiful family, friends and readers. Your $200+ are all the endorphins I need!
How about another 20 bucks for Gatorade?
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