I’ve been having a problem lately.
I can’t seem to finish the mileage I set out to run.
As Tracy so eloquently pointed out, this is just pathetic:
I’m not OCD.
I couldn’t care less if I ran 8.01 or 4.23, but when I set out to do six miles, I feel like, I don’t know, call me crazy, I should at least do six miles. And 5.73 doesn’t count. It just doesn’t.
I think cranky and unmotivated is a good way to describe my disposition.
What’s weird is, I’ve never felt better. My knees and shins have been treating me like royalty. I’ve haven’t had to ice anything in months.
But then lazy sneaks up on me, pushes me down and puts its foot on my neck. Rude.
This is my last full week of running before the half marathon (although if we’re being honest, I totally tapered last week and only ran 15.62 miles instead of 20). Next week I taper. Again. Ish.
So I’ll do
12 11.82 miles at some point this weekend and I’ll try not to whine about it, but no promises.
Isn’t spring typically the season when running starts being fun again?
“I’m tired of these self-righteous environmentalists, these white, bourgeois liberals who think the only thing wrong with this country is there aren’t enough bicycle paths. People trying to make the world safe for their Volvos. Besides, environmentalists don’t give a shit about the planet. They don’t care about the planet. Not in the abstract they don’t. You know what they’re interested in? A clean place to live. Their own habitat. They’re worried that some day in the future, they might be personally inconvenienced. Narrow, unenlightened self-interest doesn’t impress me.”