So . . . great weekend. Had a grand time out on the island of length with my lovely friends. I’m still so pale that I appear to be a beacon of light yet I’ve decided not to care. I’m embracing my whiteness. So what if I’m the color of salt.
My ass hurts. Not because of the weekend (I didn’t have THAT kind of fun) but because of the 8 miles or so I’ve ran over the past two days. After being incredibly lazy during the weekend, I’ve decided to run it away. (OK, so I use "run" loosely here . . . let’s say jog/walk.) This is fine but now my right ass-cheek hurts. How do you pull a muscle in your right ass-cheek, you ask? I have no fucking idea.
I ran (just work with me) up the East River yesterday. There were small groups (families, as some might call them) along the river, grilling out. Yup, full-fledged BBQs with small grills and blankets and kids. Now, there’s only a good 20 feet of space (and I believe I’m overestimating) between the FDR and the river but that wasn’t going to stop them. The BBQs were in full swing! It was kind of sweet, actually. Not sure I’d like to eat a burger locked between speeding cars and a somewhat smelly mass of water but . . . whatever! It’s all in the name of fun!
Now, I can say with a certainty that I wouldn’t want to eat a freshly caught fish out of the East River but, apparently, there are some who don’t mind.
Anyhow, this is all just to say that somewhere between running past cookouts and fishing poles, I pulled an ass-muscle. I’m one hell of an athlete.
I didn’t do much better on the treadmill tonight. I was a good thirty minutes into my run when I went for my towel and pulled the emergency stop string by accident. I’m not sure I have to go into detail about the shock of running a good 5.5 miles/hour before coming to an immediate halt. Jarring? Yeah.
Yeah.
Feeling good. Feeling fit. Feeling healthy. Let’s hold onto that, shall we (crossing fingers)?
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