My Fat Hates Me

I just ran for 25 minutes. 25 minutes.

2 words to describe me right now. Red. Dripping.

That's right, dripping. It supposedly is 79 degrees outside right now. And my face is beet freaking red.

I went just a tiny bit faster than Weds. Weds was just over 11 min miles. Today was just under. In my perfect world, I want 10 min miles or less, so I'm on my way. And honestly, I think I could have pushed harder. I'm still not very good at figuring what level of effort I can sustain over a period of time. But I'll get better.

Anyways, my fat hates me. The little fat pad on the inside of my right leg is rubbing on my left leg and getting all pissed off. I don't understand how they are rubbing together and only one is getting pissed, but there it is. It has obviously figured out that I am trying to get rid of it and rebelling. The sooner it freaking figures out that there isn't anything it can do to stop me, the better. Little piece of shit.

Dripper out.