Midnights

So, I ate a lot of pasta and then went running.

I got a delicious pasta dish from this new place, Cafe Paesan, it's like Cafe Rio, but with Italian food (consensus: Tex Mex always wins, but irregardless, it was delicious).  I ate it... All of it.  It's not like a little bit of pasta either, it's like... A lot of pasta, okay?

Anyways, I ate all of the pasta and was lying in my bed, digesting, and started to think on how I didn't run today. Or stretch.  Or work on my fitness in general.  So I get in the car and head to Gold's.  And I get there, and I'm doing some biceps and triceps and hamstrings and all those fun things, and I'm feeling fine.  And then I start running.  Around 1.5 miles, I start to feel things working their way back up.  Not a fast pace or anything, just taking moseying on up with some gas bubbles.  "It's fine," I say, "I have a mile and half more to go."  And I keep running.  Well, around 1.75 miles, listening to the Killers live album that they recorded while doing a concert in London (amazing, by the way), things aren't looking to happy for the future.  So I stop running at 2 miles, and start walking... Yes, walking.  On a treadmill.  At Gold's Gym.  Who am I? Anyways... My stomach starts to calm itself and I says to myself, I says "That would have been one hot mess if I kept running."  And then I exited the gym.

That's all I have to say.  Nothing thoughtful.  Nothing insightful.  Get over it.