My Bed Always Wins

I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but I can’t seem to get out of bed in the morning. Actually, I know exactly what’s wrong: I prefer sleeping to living (probably shouldn't read too much into that).

I’ve been really slacking with my runs lately. When I was training for Broad Street, I was doing two runs during the week and then my long run on Saturday. Last week, I only ran once. But I did do 12 miles on Saturday and it was a pretty great run, so congratulations to me. Guess I don’t need these pesky short runs throughout the week. I woke up early on Wednesday and ran the treadmill for a half hour. It wasn’t as soul-sucking as last time, but it wasn’t no picnic, if you know what I mean (if you’ve ever died a painful death ran on a treadmill before, you know what I mean).

Last night I set my alarm with the intent of running this morning. When my alarm went off, I really took the time to consider if that was the best choice to start my day. A whopping .2 seconds of thought allowed me to see that since I’m doing a long run tomorrow, I should probably just rest up today #faultyrunnerslogic

When my alarm went off at my usual wake-up time, I snoozed that bitch real quick. I made the standard bold choice to skip the shower in lieu of some extra sleep. Thank God for baby powder - I don’t know what my already limp ponytail would be looking like today without it.

Friday was playing extra hard to get for some reason. This week seemed longer than Jessica Simpons’s pregnancy. Okay, it didn’t REALLY feel like 22 months. But just about.