…at the ripe ol’ age of 24.
If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen the following on Sunday morning:
I was pretty excited to go sweat out the sadness on a nice long birthday run, especially with how beautiful the weather was all day.
But then I started answering birthday phone calls (my favorite being the “cha cha cha” version I now receive from my nieces) and lay down on my bed to upload pictures.
Then this happened.
I was low on sleep. My bed is reeaaally comfy. and I was in the mindset of, “It’s my birthday. I do what I want.”
And that’s the story of how my birthday became a rest day. 🙂 I elected to have a birthday dinner at Lucky Oyster, a local raw bar, with friends instead.
We should probably just be attached at the hip.
Fast forward to Monday.
I almost always hit the gym directly after work. I don’t know about you guys, but with the January Joiners overcrowding my gym, it is hot in there. I’m gettin’ real sweaty.
You know, Britney-I’m-a-Slave-4-U-sweaty.
Anybody who has seen what I really look like when I sweat can stop laughing now.
I must just be missing the snake around my neck. That’s all.
The point of this story: My first run as a 24 year old sucked. 8 miles of torture, slow speeds, and glares at my water bottle for not providing me with some magical happy running elixir.
Maybe it’s the stagnant air in the gym that makes me want to take a baseball bat to the steaming windows. Maybe it’s the lack of personal space. Maybe it’s the heat. Maybe it’s my old, feeble, decomposing 24 year old body.
And then there’s that.