Apparently I went from crying to my sister's dog to beating fists upon her island. Just to clarify: This is NOT head/desking (which is truly an expression of extreme frustration.) This is simply fist/islanding and is rather self indulgent.
I thought that maybe the best choice would be to bail on the run and just steal some beers. So tempting, as beer really washes away the taste of about 12 pounds of cadbury eggs and sour jelly beans. Snap, my poor belly.... I also thought that a beer or two paired with a righteous fistful of advil might help to quell my upper butt and calf pain...
Upper butt pain. Yeah, go ahead and take a LOOK AT IT. That's my butt. Thanks go to Lululemon for making it internet friendly... And sweet baby Geezus, would ya check out my damn calf muscles. Good gravy! Why can't I balance those things out with some bigger boobs???
I sucked it up and ran 6 miles. So slowly. Molasses in January is damn speedy compared to my laborious lumberings and tedious trundlings.... UGHHHH. Then I spent some quality Easter time icing the HAAA-YOUGE legs and (finally) drinking a beer.
And THAT is how to do a recovery run up right!