Remember last week when I mockingly said I'd run twenty miles? It was a little joke with myself, a bit of good-natured fun poked at me because I'd just got done setting a goal I didn't keep, and I knew there was no way I'd rack up twenty miles.
Well, I did it. Actually, I did twenty-one miles, and now I'm sticking my tongue out at me for all the mockery.
I feel really good. Tired, sore in spots, but mostly good. I do an unladylike amount of eating these days, and I sleep far more than I used to. I don't think I will be able to run twenty miles every week, but I am really pleased with myself so far.
Also, having a hobby that requires shoes is maybe the sexiest thing about running.