Last night was my two year wedding anniversary. I commissioned the above work from my favorite living artist.
The husband and I went out to a fancy pants dinner, where everything was so delicious I wiped spilled sauce off the table cloth and licked my fingers, because it was too good to waste.
Before dinner I went to the gym, where I spent most of the type yapping my maw over my shitty running and how my trainer should market himself. I think we reached a conclusion on his marketing, at least.
He had me doing circuits with silly rope slams (slam the ropes while jumping forward and backward! shit like that), and manual treadmill pushing, and single leg roman deadlifts.
Then I had to do minute long planks, and for the first time in a while I didn't while my face off. He thinks I'm getting better. My secret is, he was working out his girlfriend when I first got to the gym, and her plank form was only out-shadowed by her complete overreaction to how hard it was at the end. I did my best not to laugh, and vowed my planks would be awesome. And they were. Score.
At some point I'm sure the temperature will go down, and it won't be too hot to run during the day. At some point I'm sure I'll start sleeping like a normal person again, and won't be carrying around the backpack full of bricks that is my Tired. Until then, I'm just going to play it by ear.