Peppermints every half mile and my special Gatorade mix worked their magic and I passed the finish with surprisingly little distress. The problem with an easy run is the smugness that follows. Smugness is like a disease that rotts from within and catches the body by surprise. Smugness causes a well-seasoned runner to say things like "no, I don't need to ice my knees, I feel fine!" or "I've had plenty to drink today, I don't need to push fluids." So the frozen peas went into a pasta salad yesterday instead of on my knees where they belonged and I leisurely sipped on hot chocolate all afternoon instead of water.
But today, my smugness has caught up with me, like all smugness eventually does. I've got a killer head-ache that I have no doubt is dehydration related. My knees, however, are the biggest problem. I'm beginning to wonder if I was actually worked over by some goons with a baseball bat because of the money I owe Big Harry.
My painful moans are drawing suspicious glances from the couple at the next table as I pray that the waitress poisoned my Tea in pity. Perhaps I better stagger out of here before they phone in an Exorcist.
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