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Running hurts. It always has. Woolly mammoths didn’t just roll over onto a plate and serve themselves up to prehistoric man with fries and a shake. They had to be caught - and running down woolly mammoths was a bitch. Guess what? Running is still a bitch. But one with a purpose. It teaches us that good things do not come easy. It teaches us that hard work will be rewarded and laziness will be punished. Don’t expect to learn those life lessons from running’s shiftless stepchild; jogging. Next time you suffer on the roads or trails, suffer proudly. It means you run like an animal.

Pearl Izumi

Friday: 5.23 miles.
Sunday: 17.43 miles (supposed to be 20)
Monday: 4.10 miles (supposed to be 9)

My IT band is acting up and when you combine that with my sore Achilles, I’m in miserable shape at the moment. So, I’m going to follow the advice of a co-worker (who also happens to be a 2:52 marathoner) and rest for a week. Cross-training is fine as long as I’m not in pain, and I’ll gradually return to running next Monday.

I’m beyond bummed. Hence the retail therapy. Nothing a little Lululemon gear, margarita shot bloks, a new pair of socks and a water bottle can’t solve. Now my wallet hurts as much as my legs.

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