Walk This Way

The walk of shame. Don't judge. Who among us has not done their own walk of shame? Or at least made fun of that girl who is making her way through an apartment complex parking lot at 7:00 on a Sunday morning, with her "going out" black pants and a sparkly "going out" shirt on, and a wicked case of bed-head (bonus if there is a vomit stain or she has on an obviously borrowed and not-to-be-missed t-shirt)? I admit to having done a few of those back in the day. I don't recall ever feeling "shame" so much as "hangover."

Today I experienced newer, much more shame-inducing walk of shame. Three miles into my scheduled eight miler, I threw it in. My back was hurting, the knee was hurting, it was hot and humid, sweat kept running into my eyes, this one spot on the back of my leg wouldn't stop itching, the lining of my shorts kept riding up, my water was getting too warm, dogs were making fun of me, ladies with double strollers full of toddler were passing my slow ass, etc, etc, etc ...

So approximately a half mile away from my car I just went with the walk. I had spent the better half of the short run rationalizing cutting it short, so by the time I stopped, I was resigned to it. A few minutes later I thought about trying to salvage something by at least running the rest of the way to my car. I ran a few steps and resumed my walk with an "are you kidding me?" And I felt the shame. Silly, I know. Yesterday was a tremendous workout. I should have known that today would have been the suck.