I haven't been running very regularly since the Boston Marathon, which was about 10 weeks ago. Since I retired from marathoning upon crossing the finish line that day, I haven't had a running goal, and thus haven't been motivated to run.

I still fit into my pants, and my man-boobs haven't gotten noticeably bigger, so it's hard to convince myself to run on a regular schedule. I'm not one of those people who exercises due to the love of...geez, I don't know how that sentence would even end. What is it that those people love about exercising? The stench of sweat? The out-of-breathness? Freaks! (I'm looking at you, Dolface).

Consequently, it's been hard to get out of the house for some mid-week runs. The last couple that I did actually felt ok ("ok" being a relative term. Let's say it was "ok" for exercising, but not "ok" for making your days enjoyable and worth living). In fact, they felt downright speedy.

I've been keeping a log of all my runs for years now. I find it satisfying to enter my run data in a spreadsheet and see the calculations about how many miles I've run in a given month, or how fast I ran. So, after those last couple speedy mid-week runs, I rushed to the spreadsheet (a phrase one rarely hears) and enthusiastically entered the data (again, a rare phrase). I was bummed to see that not only were these runs not-speedy, they were, in fact, the slowest I had run those courses in years.

Ugh. Time is everything to me. In this case, slow times equal declining physical fitness.

It's depressing to have actual evidence of my physical disintegration. I mean, sure, I still look in the mirror and say, "Mmmmmmmm" while licking my lips and winking, but still.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do about this. I COULD run more, but, ick. I could do some other sort of exercise, but, again, ick.

I think the moral of this story is: spreadsheets bad.