Quote du jour: I want patience and I want it right now!
Warning: post contains four-letter words that might be objectionable (to my mother, at least).
Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
Yes, those were the words. It's safe now.
I thought you should know.
Well all right, I thought I should vent and you happened to be looking at blogs and ran across me behaving like a two-year-old who's stayed up waaaaay past nap time.
Exercise du jour: 90 minutes walking. Legs felt just fine, thankyouverymuch.
Went down (up? over?) to the Zoo to pick up my race bib & shirt for the Turkey Trot. Legs were quite happy.
Got back on the Max to go home, and the legs started to hurt. For No Friggin' Good Reason. By the time I got home, the legs (shins, where the front of the leg meets the foot) were quite unhappy. Why? If you have a clue, please let me know.
I mean, I was looking forward to getting up at 6 on a cold, cloudy morning to go do the four mile Turkey Trot. Or at least I was looking forward to getting a four-mile walk in on Thanksgiving morning. (Yeah, I didn't think you would buy that part about looking forward to get up that early.)
And why did my legs have to start kicking up a fuss now? If it were delayed muscle soreness from last night's jog/walk, it took its damn (sorry mom) time showing up.
Sadly, I learned from the Columbia Crossing that only very foolish Merrys push their legs when the legs are already complaining. If it's still hurting tomorrow morning, I might try the C25k run around home, where I don't have to face a two-mile walk up a steep hill if the legs start to complain.
All right, legs, fine. Be that way. Hurt as much as you like. That's not going to stop me. Well, not much. Hopefully.