PB&J horror story

I love coming up with extreme, random titles to catch your attention. Did it work?

First off, it's Monday. This made me laugh:

dog shaming cracks me up

Also, a change of desk decor was necessary this morning as I'm pretty sure my entire office building as well as the entire city of Baltimore is now officially bleeding purple. So yeah, sure, I'll jump on that bandwagon. I do live here after all.

#ravennation

Let's discuss my small 6 mile race yesterday, eh? My final time was 41:23, a 6:53 pace.  I was the 3rd female to finish and the 9th place finisher overall. Keep in mind this was a pretty small race.

I should probably be pretty happy with that time. It was hilly as HECK, and I was on track to PR if that would have been a 10k course.

But I'm not super pumped about the race itself, and how I felt during it. I felt pretty tired by mile 3. Granted, I had ran a slow 4 miles about a hour beforehand, but I don't think that was it. I think it was the massive PB&J sandwich that I housed during the 45 minutes I had between those 4 miles and the race itself.

this PB will be the death of me.

That sandwich SAT in the side of my ribs miles 3-6. It was quite a treat. No thanks to my favorite peanut butter that I occasionally eat straight out of the jar....

I started off pretty fast, too fast actually. Miles 3-6 I evened out and stayed somewhat consistent  but that was mainly due to me just trying not to die.

My favorite part of the race was probably leading it until mile 5, and then getting passed by two women. That rocked.

Lesson learned. Hills, I hate you, but we will be spending more time together. PBJ's, you will no longer be eaten before races.

Cheers!