little but loud

I set out to run 13 miles on Wednesday morning. My route was a little tricky, sort of a stitching together of runs I have done while living in other neighborhoods in the city--its pretty much impossible to run that far and stay in my (new-ish) neighborhood, the ocean kind of blocks you in and you end up running in little circles. So instead I headed out and around and then came back into the neighborhood and had to do one last circle around (about 2 miles) to complete my very own half marathon and I reached the crossroads and said "screw it" and went home instead. I ran 11 miles and learned that I really can't count on myself on a cold February morning pre-breakfast to really want to hammer it home when I could instead just head up one last hill and make oatmeal.
Oh well. It was still a good run, and a nicely long run. And I did nothing at all on Tuesday (to prepare myself, or so I told myself anyway) and thought I might not do anything at all today either, but I went down to the gym to use a foam roller --man are those things good. SO GOOD. but in a way that might make you cry--and I ended up lifting a bit : and when I did my bench press I actually put some weight on the bar! I haven't done that since my freshman year of college I think. Hah. (clarification: I do a lot more with free weights than bars. I do. I am not a complete weakling I swear) I didn't put any weight on the bar I did squats with though, and some dude stole it from me before I could do my last set and put big ass weights on it. Oh well; and then I ran a piddly slow mile on the elliptical machine. I would have gone longer if there had been anything particularly mindless on the TV but it was some MTV "truelife" that sounded awful. So I did a mile and called it good.