My thighs are screaming!

And not in a good way. Damn. Yesterday was a holiday so I was by myself at the track. Today, there was a bit of a crowd. There was creepy track guy, you know, the one who's exercising in street clothes. It was just us for the first 15 minutes. Then, at 5:15, a running group of like minded crazy fanatics like my husbands cycling peeps showed up. They were 5 marathon runners there to do cross training. Then a few minutes later, a personal trainer and his game entered the track. The poor bastards, he ran them ragged while saying shit like "fitness needs to become a habit, then it becomes therapy, then a lifelong obsession." He must have had time for coffee, I didn't, so all his motivational speakery just got on my nerves. The fitness people just don't get the non-fitness people. We know all this is true, but it just doesn't speak to us like it speaks to them. For us, it is work, end of story. Means to an end. Pain. Suffering. Stick your endorphins up your ass. I'm there because I don't want to be fat. If I had a metabolism and didn't have to work out, I would be as happy, I would not feel the need to acquire a life long obsession. Other than shoes. ADVIL.