Kickin' me while I'm down.

I was feeling particularly mopey yesterday. It was Sunday, I didn't want to shower, I had an entire disaster of an apartment to pack, I was already dreading goodbyes on my last night of work, I'd eaten entirely too much since Thanksgiving, largely consisting of pizza, and my last run was two weeks prior.

Oh, and I had zits on my chin.


All of that, combined with PMS, reduced me to tears if someone simply looked at me sideways. I'm really a joy, I am.

So I hauled my ass off the couch, suddenly motivated to run, and threw on 13 layers of clothes to protect me from the winter that was happening outside.

I had the route in my head. Nine miles. It was going to be good, too. It'd be my last run through my favorite loop of town before we left for good. (Insert tears, whining, etc., here).

I was pumped. I needed this run. The therapy of it. The fresh air. To get the hell out of the apartment because looking at the mess inside made me want to claw my face off.

All I'd eaten prior to this sudden burst of motivation was a handful of Sun Chips. Garden Salsa flavor. Heaven. But knowing that, I should've known I wasn't going to get very far with no fuel.

But I felt good, I thought. I was running nine miles. And when I got back, the apartment would be packed, I'd have lose eight pounds, my zits would be gone and my friends would be there to celebrate. With pizza.

All because I ran.

And, no. That didn't happen. I made it about two miles before I petered out. Completely. And I was not ready to be done. So I kept trying. But I was so tired. My legs weighed 32 pounds a piece. Any energy I had from the 16 Sun Chips had burnt up.

I was defeated. And cold. And walked two-and-a-half miles back home. And I hadn't even made it through my favorite part of the loop.


Of course, then I convinced myself I had completely lost all ability to run. And I'd never do it again. And all my dreams for 2008 would be shattered. And I'd die overweight, out of shape and with acne. Because this is how rational I am.

So to make up for it, I did 82 push-ups. For some reason. And today I'm sore as hell. And still want to run.