I came home last night in a bad mood. Traffic was terrible. That was the only reason. It's an hour of traffic. Every night. I wish I could crochet and drive at the same time. Or there was a really direct bus that I could take.
Anyway, I got home and plopped on the couch, announced I wasn't going running and the guilt began. I sat there for a good 40 minutes, stewing about how my commute was ruining my training, when I remembered that last year I managed it. I would manage it again this year. So at 8pm, I got up and went running. It was painful, but I did it.
Distance: 3 miles
Course: 1 mile on the track, 2 miles rolling hills
Weather: crisp, dark
Pace: 12:00 per mile
Everything hurt. It was dark and late. There was a skunk in the neighborhood grossing everything up. Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this to myself.
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2 comments:
You are doing this to yourself because anyone can run the marathon once.
But twice? That's gotta be worth some points.
Is that what it is? I guess you're right. I think it means I'm a total masochist, but since I'm doing it to myself I'm kind of a sadist.
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