Ow ow ow ow ow ow

I think I have shin splints. Either that or I'm fighting off a virus. I am in such robust good health that whenever a virus attacks, my white blood cells overpower it and kick its contagious ass. You go, white blood cells!

Of course, this means a day or two of feeling like death warmed over. Like last night, when I went to the gym, I really wasn't excited about my new best friend, the treadmill. And I thought, "Hmm, that can't be good." Because if you know me, you know I am usually full of beans - the espresso variety. Cracking jokes, talking loudly and excessively, thumping on tables with my fists for emphasis. You know, the kind of person you love at a dinner party but dread going out in public with.

But I got on the treadmill and started to walk briskly and then I started to run. And then I thought I was going to die of pain because my shins were freaking killing me. Every step was agony.

So, I did the uberintelligent kind of thing I'm known for:

I continued to run.

"I'm going to run through the pain," I thought. "I am going to work through it. "

But the pain was having none of it. And I felt like crap. Not all glowy and exhilarated and I'm-going-to-run-a-ten-minute-mile-and-I-won't-even-break- -a- sweat. No, I pretty much felt like curling up and dying, right there on the treadmill.

And then I had an epiphany: "Hey, maybe pain is my body's way of telling me something's wrong."

So I stopped running. And proceeded to walk on the treadmill for however long it took me to burn 120 calories. Which was about twenty minutes. And then I staggered to the showers and struggled back into my clothes and put on my coat and hat and went out to get the bus home. And then I proceeded to doze off between stops. So, yeah, not good.

Better today though, so hopefully tomorrow I can recommence my infatuation with burning calories and getting all toned and fit so I can fit into my really nice black pants that I haven't been able to wear since July.

It's good to have goals.