the marker of a good night…

12 Jul

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.

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