Martini calls me last night while I'm driving home from work ...
"Who is this?"
You called me.
"Right," he pauses, "are you running tonight?"
Am I running? No.
"So, that's a no then? Why not?"
Really, my hip feels fine, but that's just the problem. It feels fine enough to think I can go out for few miles with no ill effects. But my not-such-a-dumbass self knows my hip will be straining by mile two and I'll be in limptastic pain the next morning. I'm starting to feel out of sorts -- unwell, even. I see people running and I want to tackle them. This is what you get! This is what you get for taunting me!
I feel like a slug. I sit around most nights watching my reruns and I still have the appetite I had while training for the marathon. I fear I may need to go on a diet if this keeps up. Sadly, I may have to trade my beer for whiskey (very slimming!) while my running shoes are on sabbatical.
Luckily, I have a good distraction tonight. I scored tickets to Game 4 of the ALCS. Go Cleveland! Hmm, so much for the diet. Unless the vendors carry Johnnie Walker.