I ran seven miles tonight -- seven blessed, freaking miles -- the longest distance I've run since the Marathon last year, and a damn sight less fun. My knees hurt. My stomach hurts. Odd muscles on the outside of my thighs hurt. I just want to lie on my bed and stare into space and emit small moans.
(Moan. Moan.)
I'm fine, really, of course, and heaven knows I'm the one who's choosing to put myself through this -- per my Resolutions, I'm training for a half-marathon on October 1. And the training is going well; I'm actually ahead of schedule. I am also eating like a horse, though I'm not sure if this is because my metabolism is changing or I'm just giving myself license to pig out given how much I'm exercising.
(Moan. Whinny. Oink. Moan.)
Nonetheless, I am taking advantage of one of my four Self-Pity Posts* for 2006 to note my stiff ankles and sore neck and tight back and general exhaustion. And I have to go to work tomorrow, and my apartment isn't very clean, and I have a zit on my chin, and I'm editing a dissertation about medieval pilgrims, and I'm losing in my digital Scrabble game, and, and . . .
Do I have anything else to whine about? Not really. But for good measure:
Moan. Moan. Moan.
___________
* A little-known fact of the Blogger terms of service: Each blogger is allowed four Self-Pity Posts (SPPs) per year, wherein said blogger can whine, scream, kick, pout, make stupid faces, and complain to his/her heart's comfort. Commenters who sympathize can earn an additional SPP for their own blogs; commenters who deplore such behavior in a grown-up get a tongue stuck out at them. Phbbbt.
(Moan. Moan.)
I'm fine, really, of course, and heaven knows I'm the one who's choosing to put myself through this -- per my Resolutions, I'm training for a half-marathon on October 1. And the training is going well; I'm actually ahead of schedule. I am also eating like a horse, though I'm not sure if this is because my metabolism is changing or I'm just giving myself license to pig out given how much I'm exercising.
(Moan. Whinny. Oink. Moan.)
Nonetheless, I am taking advantage of one of my four Self-Pity Posts* for 2006 to note my stiff ankles and sore neck and tight back and general exhaustion. And I have to go to work tomorrow, and my apartment isn't very clean, and I have a zit on my chin, and I'm editing a dissertation about medieval pilgrims, and I'm losing in my digital Scrabble game, and, and . . .
Do I have anything else to whine about? Not really. But for good measure:
Moan. Moan. Moan.
___________
* A little-known fact of the Blogger terms of service: Each blogger is allowed four Self-Pity Posts (SPPs) per year, wherein said blogger can whine, scream, kick, pout, make stupid faces, and complain to his/her heart's comfort. Commenters who sympathize can earn an additional SPP for their own blogs; commenters who deplore such behavior in a grown-up get a tongue stuck out at them. Phbbbt.
