I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted by that last post. I cannot believe the number of words I spent moaning about not having a "fun" group. I can't even believe I actually wrote those words—except yes, I can, because I have actually met me.
And before we get back to me, I do want to mention our running family friend Stephanie, who has been relegated to the elliptical due to what it turns out seems to be a minor injury. Yippee!! (I mean not yippee that she's injured, yippee that it's not serious. Oh, you know what I mean.)
So, not to get all sloppy or anything, but yeah, you ALL reminded me, one way or another, that I actually already have a fantasticamally fun group I run with. All of you. Only we don't run together all the time. Or ever. But still. You're all there, bringing me back from Planet Jeanne.
So meanwhile, today it was twenty-seven-eleven-hundred degrees out. No, really. Topped 100. And I ran at 7 a.m. But the spectacular part is that I ran—are you ready for this?—WATCHLESS~!
That's akin to saying I ran topless.
I thought I had my watch in my backpack and then I remembered, no it was home, so that I could diligently enter all its little numbers into my training log over at cool running (cool, my ass. Do they know what's going on out there???)
This was my first time (the virgin metaphor again!) going watchless, and I felt, well, kind of naked.
I ran my usual four miles and I have absolutely no idea how fast or slow I went. Ok, I'm exaggerating. I have some idea. I did look at the clock before and after, but that's including cool-down and warm-up and stretching.
Point is, after all the whining and moaning about the whole pace group thing, I think it's slightly ironic, if not downright Freudian, that I forgot the watch.
It was very freeing.
Imagine how freeing if I actually did run naked.
And with that scary thought, I bid you good night.