As you have already assumed, all this not running around these parts this week has led to utter dilapidation of the Viper. Faith and fear take equal turns punching me in the metaphysical snot-locker.
I think I can.
No I can't.
Not running means I'm not burning the usual calories. I'm ballooning--no, blimping--to astronomical (or is that 'aeronautical'?) proportions. It's so bad I'm going to need a bigger home, one so big you can see it from space. Luckily, there is such a place nearby: the Goodyear Airdock.
And because I'm not burning calories, I've got all this extra energy. My legs are bouncing around like Mexican jumping beans. (Wait, that's not racist is it?)
And all this bouncing around is screwing with the healing process, as my right, inner thigh is clearly about to collapse upon itself, causing a chain reaction throughout the leg, weakening the contiguous supporting muscles, crippling the knee, compromising the calf, rendering the ankle completely useless as the foot dangles like a dingle berry, forcing me to not run (not even walk) for months on end, which will certainly lead to catastrophic atrophy in the limb a la Tiny Tim.
To sooth my not running soul, I turned my thoughts to Victory--that is, Victory Brewing Co. and its HopDevil Ale, an IPA. You can read some reviews at Beer Advocate. I wouldn't say it was menacingly delicious, but pretty good nonetheless.
Now, go away. Not running also means I don't have much to write about. So wish me luck on my run tonight and come back to read about it tomorrow. Cheers.