Since my last post I have not exactly been pursuing the thrill of running.
First I skipped a few runs. Mostly because I didn’t want to run so I didn’t.
Then I went to Ottawa to visit family and while there, I enjoyed Poutine-fest: a celebration of the greasiest, fattiest, heaviest food known to humankind, generously bestowed upon us by the Quebecois. I can’t believe that someone thought, let’s take this greasy, salty food—french fries—and add some greasy, salty topping—cheese curds—and some greasy, salty sauce—gravy. Mine even had an extra additional greasy, salty topping—bacon. (As an aside: one sometimes hears arguments about what constitutes REAL poutine as opposed to the “pale imitation” that some restaurants serve. Arguing over what makes REAL poutine is like arguing over what makes a REAL Big Mac. You might be right, but no one cares because you’re eating garbage.)
After that calorie-fest, I skipped a few more runs. Because I was “sick”. (I was indeed a bit under the weather, but I was still well enough to work.)
And now here I am, feeling grumpy and guilty and sad that I’ve taken steps backwards.
I wasn’t trying to pursue pudge, I swear, it just happened.
So anyway, now I’m back at it again. I ran again today for the first time in over a week. It felt terrible.