|My actual dogs, Bella and Luna.|
They are both good dogs. Mostly.
Today was a royal dog fight.
Black Dog: It's cold--36 degrees! I'm wrapping up a head cold that still gives me coughing fits. I'm retaining water. My weight is creeping up. I'm just feeling generally surly around the edges.
White Dog: In other words, all the more reasons to go. I don't have to run perfectly, I just have to move. If my breath only lets me walk, then I walk. Plus, I have a new Bondiband that needs wearing.
Black Dog: I'm not finishing these intervals. I'm still not finishing these intervals. This whole project is a lie. I should quit.
White Dog: I can't quit. I've already talked long and loud about it. I've already paid for a race in March. I have people joining me. This is just temporary.
Black Dog: My boobs hurt. I feel too fat to move.
White Dog: Temporary. Don't make any decisions today. Besides, I gotta get home somehow.
Black Dog: It hurts to breathe in cold weather.
White Dog: I learned how to run in 90 degrees and 90% humidity. It's just a matter of practice.
Black Dog: I'm slow. I'm never going to get past 5K races.
White Dog: Did I hear my app right? My average pace is under 13 minutes? I finished 3.12 miles in 40 minutes? Let's run!
Black Dog: But ...
White Dog: Shut up! Run!
Black Dog: Breath ... Trying to catch breath ...
White Dog: I need to cool down anyway. Stretch. Breakfast and coffee.
Black Dog: Make it black.
White Dog: Sure thing.