is the pain index of the following morning’s run. And this morning’s was bad, really really bad. In the 100-degree heat, something gross was definitely still slushing around in my stomach. I was sweating vodka and burping peanut butter and funfetti icing (Alex, what did we do/consume last night???!).
How does that saying go? Why do I keep banging my head against a wall? Because it feels so good when I stop.