I May Have Rigor Mortis

Yesterday, as punishment to myself for not walking or running or doing anything for almost two weeks, I totally caned myself. I went on a six km walk/jog - or wag as I affectionately call it. 


I branched out of my usual walk/run/jog/feel-like-I-am-dying and did lunges, and manoevred my way around the streets like a crab. Thankfully no one else was about (that I could so), so I don't have to feel so self-conscious about what everyone's thinking about that nutty woman. 


And then it started to rain. I was only 2/3 way through my planned run - and it started raining and raining. As further punishment, I made myself stay put - where once I would have scurried home. I may have even pretended I was preparing myself for Tough Mudder. 


Over 6 kms later, I went home. Half elated, half dog tired. Then I forced myself to carry some heavy hard rubbish from the back of the house to the foothpath. Four trips in total. I am such a beefcake. 


My sneakers were trashed, I was covered in mud - and so I finally made it into the shower. 


Sadly I neglected to stretch *forehead slap* and as a result, I am now walking like the Tin Man. I think I've got a severe case of rigor mortis. 


And then I dragged my sorry ass out of bed this morning, and did it all over again.