We're a big bunch of masochistic weirdos

I had to jog 50 feet to catch the bus this morning and my legs complained. Boo. It's ironic that I run so much in training that I can't actually run in real life when I need to.

Yesterday was typical spring weather – dreary, with rain showers all day. So I was at the gym come five to bang out six miles. The gym crowds have thinned since January but wet weather can still bring them inside in droves (course I'm part of the herd too - moo). I try to avoid doing more than four miles on the treadmill after work because once I cross the mystical thirty minute barrier I become a target for gymsters on the hunt for a cardio machine. Personally, I'd rather wait five minutes than interrupt someone else's workout. But life has taught me that not everyone feels the same. And I do start to feel guilty when someone is waiting and my workout time starts creeping up toward 50 minutes. Not guilty enough to get off the treadmill, but you know - a little twinge.

I started off easy and worked out the kinks I still have from whatever it was I did to myself two weeks ago. I did four miles at about 6.6, then bumped up to 6.8, and for the last mile put the pace back up to 7.2. I hit more kinks as I increased the pace, but once I'd been running for a few minutes they melted away. Happiness. Something momentarily horrifying happened right afterward though. I was walking toward the cool-down area and stopped to pick up an exercise mat on the floor. As I stood up I stumbled and somehow jammed my foot in a way that caused EXCRUCIATING pain to engulf the top of my left foot. I yelped and nearly fell over (in my usual graceful fashion). It hurt the whole time I was stretching, anytime I bent the foot, and while I gimped back to the lockers. I was, of course, panicked, and ready to call my chiropractor post-haste.

Once I got other shoes on though, it nearly vanished. And this morning, even wearing my running shoes, it was barely a whisper. Apparently it was just random ghostly agonizing pain. Goody!