This is supposed to be a running blog. I blame my recent deep posts on the fact that my lower mileage has brought my womanly hormones back into the game. That and a current obsession with Pearl Jam has been the recipe for the latest emo casserole. All I feel like doing is dabbing patchouli on my temples, standing in front of the space heater and bawling my eyes out to “Daughter.”
The weather out here isn’t just frightful; it’s downright dangerous. The roads still haven’t been cleared and we’re due for more of the white stuff so Winter=10, Suzy=0. The majority of my runs have been on the treadmill, which, is fine. Because I feel like if I speak poorly about it, then it’s going to hear me, and then leave me naked and cold, in bed, hungry, and it’ll smash my french press into pieces on its way out, and carve “YOUR RUNNING CLOTHES SMELL LIKE CAT PEE AND SEMEN” into the driver’s side door of the Hotyssey.
So, I decided to incorporate some hills into my workout today just to give the legs a bit of a wake-up call. I warmed up for 10 minutes, increased the incline by 2% every 2 minutes until I got to 12% and then I went back down to 0%, cooled down, and then kicked it up to 7:03 min/miles for the last 3 miles.
Callum played on my phone for the first bit and then joined me in the garage with his firetruck and chalk. He then proceeded to empty out the garbage bags onto the garage floor behind me. That was fun.
Do you guys drink coffee out of a french press? I know Laura does.
Tell me about your feelings right now. Use all your feeling words. Let it all out to Yo Mama.
Pearl Jam: Yes or yes?
Did you guys watch SNL?