Dead legs

Holy hell. My run last night was rough. My long run on Sunday was uneventful, and I felt great afterwards, but good God, did I pay the price Monday and Tuesday. Sunday, i barely ate a thing after my 10, and wasn't really hungry; just thirsty. (That makes me want to quote Forrest Gump) Monday and yesterday I couldn't stop eating. I was craving pasta like you wouldn't believe. So yesterday I gave in and ate a bowl of spaghetti at around 4:30. It helped. I didn't eat anything after that, though. I know I needed some protein, but my weight loss has been so slow since i started training, i didn't want any more calories.

I set out for yesterday's 5 mile run around 7pm. I couldn't seem to get out of the house. My daughters have decided there is nothing worse in their lives than my departure for a run. There was clinging. There were tears. There was howling and relentless sobbing. For the love of Christ, I'll be right fucking back. Does anyone need an explanation for why I run? Exhibit A.

So, the night had cooled off a bit, which was great, but it was still humid. My legs felt like they each had a 5lb weight strapped to them. I thought about taking a shortcut twice, but fought the urge. I also considered lopping off a half mile at the end, but ignored those thoughts as well.

All in all, I was pretty proud of my run last night. It's great to have an awesome, smooth run. I live for those. But on the flipside, maybe it's the crappy runs that are really a symbol of your achievement. I had several opportunities to make it easier on myself, but chose to fight through it and reach the goal I had laid out for myself that evening. I'm awesome.