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My excessive energy, extreme narcissism, and intense love of neon-colored spandex is both managed and fueled by my addiction to fitness. I push myself to extremes and I push other people's buttons. Obviously I needed my own blog.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Crappy Run

My alarm went off at 5 for a run with T. I had forgotten (again) that I needed to be up early and had spent way too much timing watching tv last night. I felt like crud, but I hauled myself up at got dressed.

My Garmin didn't register the run from my apartment to the park so add 1.3 miles please. Has anyone else living in Manhattan or other cities with tall buildings figured out a way to get their device to locate satellites easily? Do I need to turn it on everyday, even when I'm not running?

T and I met by the entrance at 72nd Street and headed up towards the Harlem Hills. I had to wear my glasses because I can't wear my contacts this week and T was wearing hers because she has pink eye. Yup, sorry T. I just told the whole world you have pink eye. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I used to have it all the time when I was teaching.

My legs felt dead, my brain was fuzzy, and my glasses kept fogging up. And then I had to use the bathroom. I'm usually pretty lucky. I'm a regular person without having to resort to Activia (is anyone else really grossed out by Jamie Lee Curtis telling them to eat yogurt and then promising that if they don't take a poop, they can get a refund on the yogurt?), and my schedule seems to work around my workouts. Not today. I decided to cut my run short and head back along the 72nd traverse. Good thing I did.

Thank God for the Boathouse bathroom.

Feeling much lighter (God, I'm gross), I ran up to 79th and exited the park. The picture below accurately captures what I could see wearing my fogged up, rainy glasses. I'm never running in those again. I mean it.

Moments after I left, T stepped in horse shit. It really was a crappy run.

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