Last week, I went for a long run. Well, long for me — 5 and a quarter miles. A 3 mile run is normal for me, but anything above that I start qualifying as BIG. But you know what? It felt GREAT.

That was a week ago, and I haven’t gone for a long run since.

Why is this? I did something that made me feel fabulous, both physically and mentally, and now I can’t get my lazy fat ass out to do it again for absolutely no reason.

Well, maybe a little reason. I’m fucking sore. Seriously, y’all, I can hardly move. We moved a truckload of heavy things on Sunday, and on Monday I taught a volleyball lesson (during which I slid on the slippery grass and I can’t believe I didn’t pull a hammy) and did push-ups, and on Tuesday I worked out with Fitz. By the end of that workout, for the first time, I physically couldn’t do what she was asking me to do. And yeah, they were hard things, but things I could normally push through, and this time I couldn’t. Which is now, of course, all in my head — maybe I’m not going for a long run because I won’t be able to do it! Maybe my body finally decided enough was enough and it’s just going to start saying, “Ummm, no thanks. I don’t feel like doing that today.”

Today I’m planning to go for a run, at least three miles. But maybe I won’t. Oh, jeez, I don’t know …

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