Run, run, run. Run.

In the name of all that's holy, I did not want to run today. I finally got a whole eight hours of sleep last night, hung out with family, watched t.v., saw a movie, and ate my weight in American food. After coming home, I sat down with hubby and we watched the recorded prologue of Le Tour de France. When it finished, I knew my number was up.

Today's mission: run 11 minutes, walk one minute, run 11 again, walk one again, then run six minutes. Okay, yeah, fine, whatever, let's get this over with. I did it. It was no big showing, and I didn't break any records, but I did it against all lazy odds, and I know that counts for something.

Sunday evening is a no-run day, and I'll be delighted about that. Running returns on Monday, but the temperature should be at least 20 degrees lower than the past few days, so I'm delighted about that as well. My left calf still hurts, though, which does not make me happy, so I think it would like a day off, too. Happy Birthday, U.S. of Americans!