Baby Sister kicked ASS with her 5K on Sunday. To those who commented before, thank you so much for being a non-ice crotch and telling her how hotshit she is. So I'm going to ask again, tell her she's UBER hotshit. She ran a 5K. AND finished. AND told that finish line to suck it. Then ate greasy food afterwards and felt AMAZING. AND she said her finisher shirt is killer. Fashion is important to us. Almost as much as how much you can drink on our 21st birthday.
I love caplocks. Canyoutell???
So now she's working on her next races. She's thinking to keep on the 5K routine for a bit before stretching out that distance. She's a normal person who doesn't sign up for a half marathon after never running before.
At least intelligence found someone in the family.
But enough about her. Ya, ya, we're proud...but this is my blog. Therefore I get to rattle your ear off with nonsense, alcoholism, cursing, and requests for nap time.
Is running fun? It can be.
It can also suck a big, fat one.
Like Sunday. Do NOT have Chinese takeout if you're wanting to a.) be in the mood to hit the sneakers, b.) not suffer from MSG poisoning (so delicious though!), c.) run more than 2 miles on the treadmill because not even Giuliana could keep me interested.
But throw my ass a running buddy?
I'm.in.love. And maybe throw me some sunscreen as well. We all know I burn in March. ;)
Running with someone who's also similarly paced to a turtle without a shell (slow, but not that slow) is the best thing since lemon wedge garnishes. Trust me. I know my garnishes.
Thursday morning will included a lovely 3 miles, a lovely running buddy, a lovely Navy base, a lovely post-run smoothie, hopefully some lovely non-drip, sweat-proof aerosol sunscreen, and a lovely drive back home back to the
Am I fast? No. Do I do it for fun? Yes. And does it hurt that long runs combats my intake for cereal-for-dessert, microbrews, and In 'N Out? Not.at.all.
I realize that training runs are just that. Training. Obviously I feel the need to have negative splits at 7:12/mile. Buuuuut. I have boobs. I have the gait of a drunk, newborn giraffe. And I have a life. OH, and I eat more than protein powder, flax seed, and air. I'm trying. It's a great workout. And I get outta the house. That's enough for me.
Did this post have a purpose? Nope. It's just Wednesday.