Hi, I’m your cat. If you don’t pay attention to me I’ll spill your water all over your phone.
In other news: my ARMS. Lordy. That Jillian lady wasn’t kidding.
Coincidentally, I had to do manual labor at work yesterday – one of the perks of working for a small company; you get to do everything – and I could feel twinges of agony in my biceps. But it didn’t get really bad until this morning.
After work I tried a little tenderness and did some yoga; thought maybe it would keep the body guessing and ease the soreness, but it did no such thing.
Then I tried a little running — although I could hardly swing my arms properly; I did my 2.5 miles in about 25 minutes again. But it didn’t start to feel anything even remotely close to natural until at least a mile in, and even then I felt like I had to focus intensely on every step.
My mom (hi mom!) told me she admired me because I keep insisting on doing something that’s really, really hard all the time. And that made me wonder, why do I even bother?
I have these giant bunions that stick out of my feet like little evil feet elbows, I have proportionally short legs and a low tolerance for dehydration. And I manage to hurt myself, like every other week.
Running is my abusive boyfriend and I’m the battered woman who keeps making excuses for staying with him.
It’s my fault, I didn’t train well enough. I had it coming to me, not stretching after that 8 miler. You don’t understand, it’s complicated. You don’t know running like I do.
Running keeps kicking the crap out of me and I just keep taking it.
So why do I do it?
Well, I’m in love.
Now. Who wants cat stew?
This blog post title was inspired by Caddy Shack, and the great Chevy Chase.