If you have delicate sensibilities, stop now because I plan on saying what I want to say, exactly how I want to say it. Which is:
Fuck me, that was an annoying run!! Or run/walk, whatever the hell what I do is called. I need a name for this method. I think I'll just say RW. So ok, FUCK ME, that was an annoying RW! And no, gentleman, that was not an invitation but an exclamation. Everything hurt this evening. Everything. Blah. I'll disgust myself if I go into a whining fit so I'll resist the urge.
Why, oh why is running this way? One run is incredible and I feel on top of the world, capable of anything. The next run? The next run can leave me feeling like an idiot for thinking I'm capable of running a half marathon.
And what the hell?! I'm slow! As I told someone recently, I've taken to calling myself Turtle Runner. I have the body for running. I'm lean and long-ish. I look like people's idea of a recreational runner...well, other than the boobage. Ha. Guess what? It's a sham! A mere facade. I am a TURTLE. Doing this RW thing (I'd say Galloway Method, but I'm not actually following that method) I do 3.1 miles in 34 minutes. Even walking part of the time I feel I should get 3 miles done in 30 minutes. The weirdest part? My jogging pace isn't too bad. I can keep it in a 10 minute mile, which is average, I think. It's my walking pace that kills me! I can not, to save my life, walk at a fast clip. I mean a pack of Zombies could be on my ass and if I had to out walk them, I'd quickly become one of the Zombie Nation.
Oh hey, didn't I say I wasn't going to whine? Yes, yes I did. Apparently I lied. The good news is my wine is kicking in and I'm feeling less annoyed by this evenings shortcomings. Notice I didn't say MY shortcomings. Uh uh. No. Negatory. It was this evening, that run and not me that fell short. That's what I'm telling myself and I'm sticking to it.