A couple days ago I mentioned how much I hate morning runs, going as far as referring to them as "Christmas trousers". And I was serious - morning runs just ain't how this playa rolls. At 7AM I don't even want to be dreaming about running, (mostly because it take away moments that could be spent dreaming about frolicking through magical enchanted forest or playing Scrabble with Adriana Ambrosia - who on a side note I would absolutely smoke in a game of wordplay and wit). But being that I'm a diplomatic individual filled with integrity and open-mindedness I decided on Friday morning to let bygones be bygones and hit up a quick morning lower loop in the Park.
Now, I can admit when I'm wrong. It's happened before - maybe once. I don't really remember it, but I'm pretty sure it was March of '93 or around then. But I was totally wrong about morning running. It's not the hellish debacle I made it out to be. No, it's far far worse. Possibly the worst thing ever. I'd put it on the same level as taking a big swig of milk and halfway through the swallowing process realizing it expired eight days ago, or the movie Baby Geniuses. It was really that miserable an experience.
Will I do it again? Probably. Sometimes you have to squeeze a run in early so you can spend the rest of your day engaging in more important endeavors - like the mass consumption of adult style beverages, or Scrabble tournaments with Victoria Secrets models, (ball's in your court Adriana), but morning running just isn't and probably never will be my bag of Skittles.
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