I was expecting this run to be horrible. A heaving, wheezing, barfing kind of bad.The last day I ran was Saturday. Which, if you're counting, was FIVE days ago. And it wasn't lovely. Then, thanks to a combination of crazy work, crazy wallowing, and the need to drink beer because of said work and said wallowing, I just haven't gotten around to running this week.
But after a midday meltdown related to a SNAFU with the power company, I knew I could use the chance to run. So I walked outside, decided there were too many mosquitoes and then promptly turned around and tried to go into my building's fitness room. But fate apparently didn't want that to happen, since the treadmill was having some kind of electrical seizure (note a trend with me and power today) so I said screw it (ok, I said another word that sounds like duck), braved the bugs and went outside.
This week's run was more challenging that the first week. It called for 90 seconds of running and 2 minutes of walking. Repeat six times.
And there's the thing. The big, crazy, miraculous, hallelujah sorta thing: I had fun. And I wasn't dying.
I know. WTF? Right? Me. The girl who hates running. Who's always hated running. Enjoyed herself? It was warm, but not too warm. Humid, but not too humid. And you know what, running for 90 seconds isn't very hard. And I felt great doing it. I made sure to stretch before. And after. And while I'm sure my skin tastes like a salt like right now (which probably explains why the Mutt Dog won't stop licking me) I feel really good.
This can only mean one thing. There's a cold front headed our way from hell.
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