Running is the only physical activity that I can do pretty well (with my clothes on....OH!).
I hate running. And on that note, I have come to have a love/loathe relationship that is just about as disfunctional as the myriad of relationships that I have--through the course--of my life grown accustomed to. In other words, I get hurt and keep coming back like an absolute fool.
Take last night for example--my marathon training plan is scheduling me to do my long runs on Saturday. Yesterday was the Saturday of my week 5 which meant I was in for a good one. 10 miles to be exact. And despite the fact that I have flat feet and the coordination of a drunk 5 year old, I decided--what the hell.
So here I am, a day later. My purple toenail has become blue, my ankles feel like I've been walking with weights, my knees feel ancient, and I have a considerable amount of exposed bloody skin on my knee.