Be afraid. Be very, very, very afraid.
WEATHER: Oh mah gawwwd. 95 degrees, with 124 gajillion% humidity
MILES THIS WEEK: 23.5ish
WHERE TO: Sunburnland
MOOD: <deep, contented, cleansing breath>
Stage 9: Going Overboard
You’re back, sister! Holy God, congratulations! <flaps hands> Your leg/foot/tendon/ligament/deeply blistered heel is recovered, and you can crank out relatively high mileage. Screw Bodypump/yoga/swimming/Sit & Be Fit! WE’RE BACK ON THE WAGON! LET’S DO 30 MILES TO CELEBRATE! Somebody HAND ME MY RUNNING SHOES AND CRUSH A BOTTLE OF ADVILS INTO MY WATER BOTTLE.
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Rest in peace, little buddy. I hardly deserved you.
WEATHER: Coolish (75 maybe?) but humid as all get out.
MILES THIS WEEK: 27
WHERE TO: Metropolitan Branch Trail, Catholic U, Howard U Reservoir, etc.
MOOD: Exhausted from a long weekend involving 24 hours of epic food poisoning, a subsequent ice cream binge, a too-long post-food-poisoning Sunday long run, and a Grey’s Anatomy binge (which, like the 4 servings of ice cream, feels so right at the time, until you feel dirty and wish you hadn’t)
Recovering from Injury: Stage 8 — Leaving your iPod in the little gel-pouch on your running shorts and thus accidentally running the little fellow through the washing machine
Sigh. Happens to the
best dimmest of us. <muffled sob>
Please, drop what you’re doing today and observe a few moments of silence for Little Blue. He played a damn good Enrique tune.
Here. Have a lollie.
WEATHER: Warm and sunny and delightful — 72 degrees and not humid.
MILES THIS WEEK: 9.5
WHERE TO: Back into Mojo-land.
MOOD: Cautiously optimistic.
First, let me say that I HAVE MY MOJO BACK! Did I do 23 miles yesterday? Yes. Did I receive several facefuls/eyefuls of gnats? Yes. Is my chest slightly abraded from carrying Gu packets in my sports bra? Oh, you better believe it. Is life back to normal? <punches air> Helllls yes!
Anyway. On to the important stuff: getting over your injury. You’ve cross-trained, you feel yourself getting stronger, etc., and yet — and yet.
The injury isn’t better-better. It’s just sort of half-assed improving. And you, as the world’s greatest super happy fun time run run runnerperson ever, do not do anything that isn’t at the very least 90-percent-assed. But you also don’t need no stinking doctor. Also, you were sick that day in college where they taught you how to be an adult and how health insurance works, so words like “deductible” and “copay” and “HMO” and “doctor” are still a little mystifying to you.
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