A RECIPE FOR THE ULTIMATE PEEGRET:

runlikeella:

• Run 10 miles.
• Down a 700mL water bottle promptly upon finishing said run.
• Take the subway home.
• Forget that the subway ALWAYS delays on weekends, but especially on Sundays.
• If you give a mouse a cookie, he’s going to want a glass of milk to go with. If you go for a really long run, upon coming home, you’ll find your roommate just stepped into the shower.
• And hogged all the hot water.

You, meanwhile, will be forced to either (a) wait it out, or (b) run downstairs to the bodega and beg the guy at the counter to use the bathroom again as only someone in New York living in a 3br/1 bath could. But see, that means walking down and then back up 3 flights of stairs since you live in a walk up, and after doing that once? No. Just. You will wait, my friend. You will friggin’ wait.

I can’t show you where I started my run because you’d all turn into a bunch o’ stalkers, but I can show you where I ended: at a Starbucks by Wall Street. My run occupied Wall Street. I haven’t run down that way in a long time, partially because I was bored of the stretch of highway between 42nd street and 28th street that is just as uninteresting as could be, and partially because I wanted to avoid any and all protests like the plague. Keep on doing your thing, fight the good fight, fuel my socialist mother to fill my facebook feed with left wing opinion, just don’t let me get arrested. (I spend all my money on shoes, I can’t afford paying a fine.)

And while I was supposed to only run 9 miles today, the GPS on my phone decided to tell me I’d run a mile in 2:07, and then another mile and a half in 6:28. Yeah, right. I had to go by time, and while a 10 minute mile pace is conservative for me, I figured to aim for an hour and thirty minutes to be on the safe side. Right when I think I can let up? The Immigrant Song starts playing.

I think the shuffle feature on my phone has it in for me when it comes to the whole “motivation” thing. It’s really not fair to play a power song all the way at the end.

Oh, and for the record on how the whole Clif Shots thing went: best flavor ever, questionable mouthfeel, which is like the ultimate food douche thing to say, but it stands.

(Source: meandmyworkout.com, via andellasaid)