Yesterday morning, I returned from a very torturous eighteen mile run. It was so hard, I spent the better part of the last half looking for the giant cement blocks tied to my legs a la sleeping with the fishes.
After I spent twenty minutes crying, trying to remember why I’m doing this, I sat on the floor of the shower -I couldn’t stand but more so because of the light headedness and less the legs- and tried to think of the people I could call for some sympathy and/or advice.
I have a lot of runner friends and while that’s always a great source of inspiration I more wanted to whine than anything. So, I called my sister.
She answered and I went right into my pity party. “Why am I doing this, ” I asked?
She didn’t know. A few seconds of silence passed and then she said “I know! Get over to Grandma’s house now. I just talked to her and she has cinnamon rolls. Go eat some!”
And so I went and ate 18 miles worth of cinnamon rolls and didn’t feel one ounce of guilt.
The simplest solutions are often the best.
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