At least I didn't lock the keys in the fucking car. I hoped to run 20 miles on the River Trail, but realized after about 15 minutes that too much misery would intrude. My legs were dead, so I turned around at two miles and was less than content to go four in 44:59 (no, I didn't sprint to break 45; that was a coincidence), with splits of 11:12, 11:14, 11:16, and 11:17.
I heard a knock, and see discouragement's nose distorted through the peep hole. Motherfucker's shown up four weeks and five days before the Little Rock Marathon and I am engaging the bolt and chain.
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