I ran 8.3 miles tonight. After four days off. Bad idea. The four days off, that is. That was a long 8.3 miles. And it was hot out. And? I have cramps and am bloated. And now you know.
But more importantly, we decided to do lunges afterward. Around the entire parking lot. Lunges. Around the parking lot. That's, like, more lunges than I can count because, by the time I was halfway through? I wanted to drop dead on the spot. I would've had more fun not breathing than performing one more lunge.
However, I did them. And the entire episode was harder than running 8.3 miles in the heat, while cramp-like and bloated. And tomorrow we have to run again. With fast people. People who can push a 6-year-old girl in a jogger stroller and still beat me at a half marathon. Because, oh, that? That half marathon? I was just using it for training, they say.
And then Thursday? Running and hills. Running probably 6 miles. And then running up a hill, multiple times. Up and down, up and down, up and down, want to die. Something like that.
We also made the declaration that we will do lunges after every run because, hello, we are incapable of making able-minded decisions that do not include imminent death. And I have another half marathon to run in 12 days.
You better believe I will be in dang good shape for my wedding.