Call Me Forrest..

Today I ran my first 8 consecutive miles, outside.

I ran. Like, the entire time. I didn't even have to stop.

Almost 3 of those miles were in the rain. My girlfriend told me it would make us feel bad-ass for not quitting, but I just felt wet, and sticky, and my pants got all stretched out from the rain, so I had to keep pulling them up to my boobs like Ed Grimley.

And my butt cheeks were freezing.

And I think my feet were pickled at about mile 5.

The first 6 were fairly easy, which surprised the hell out of me.

The last two I had to push myself to complete. My girlfriend kept telling me "it's only two miles anyone can run two miles, we'll be done in 20 minutes". I wanted to tell her to shut up, but she's one of my oldest friends, and she meant well. And no one offered to carry me on their backs so I had to keep going.

I didn't feel bad-ass per se, but I do feel good for completing it.

Now, laying around on the couch for the rest of the day wont make me feel so bad.

Did I mention that my bathroom is on the second floor? That's a lotta steps for these tired legs to make.