I've been keeping mildly mum about the details of my half marathon training for several reasons.
Mostly because speaking about such things on this blog tends to be a curse, which leaves me injured and talking with a physical therapist about said injuries. However, I'm just too excited for words about my progress.
And the other reason is because, with the exception of today, as you may have noticed, I have had NO TIME to blog. And this, people, is a problem. Blogging is a release. And with all of these pent up ramblings, why waste them talking about running, when instead I can tell you about my faulty diet and Justin Timberlake's "F" word?
But alas, here I am. Blogging about running. Isn't this fun?! Ahem. OK, moving on.
So, I ran seven miles on Sunday. Count them - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. And, hot dog, it felt fantastic! I kicked and screamed for a minute or 13 before The Fiance threatened to burn my books if I didn't get my arse outside, but once I laced up the shoes, blasted the iPod, and shuffled myself to the rhythm of My (sweet, sweet) Chemical Romance, I was on a roll! Wheee! Isn't this great? I'm running!
And then my iPod died. One mile into the run. Eff-you-see-kay.
However, it was a glorious day! No worries! I don't need music! There's sunshine! And people! And, golly, it's a good day to run! I was seriously this excited, people. It's sick, really. And the rest of the run was much of the same. All, look at me! I can run! And, I love life! I promise I brooded in a dark corner with Chicken for at least four minutes that day to make up for all of the happiness.
Even in the morning, before the hour of 6 a.m., when I'm on the treadmill at the gym, I have thoughts in my head other than, "Wow, I wish I were dead," as I mostly would at 5:32 a.m. when I am awake and forced to function as a human.
This whole running pain-free idea is pretty neat. I dare say I enjoy it. Gasp.
However, I must apologize to the senior citizen couple at the gym, who utilize the treadmills next to mine while I'm watching MTV as motivation, and are then forced to watch ghetto booty shaking, and listen to Fergie sing about being g-l-a-m-o-r-o-u-s.
And on that note, let it be stated that the half marathon training is progressing swimmingly.