Ooof

I think I might be dying. Or dead, I'm sure sure which. 

After a 4-ish mile run, I decided to finish it off by tackling Sixth Street again.  Man, that hill is tough.  My goal was to not stop when I reached the top of each block, but rather do a little recovery jog down the street until my heart felt like it wasn't going to explode.  On Tuesday, I made it up three blocks, but stopped between for 30 seconds or so.  Today, I made it two blocks using a recovery jog and then I had to switch to stopping and did two more blocks before finishing up with a half-mile recovery jog back home to give me a five mile total for the day. 

I walked into the kitchen dripping in sweat, face beet red and utterly exhausted.  Josh looked at me and said "Holy cow, how far did you go?" or something like that.  What I suspect he really wanted to say was "Holy cow, you look like death.  What the hell did you do?" but he values his life too much.

Ugh, I'm exhausted and my legs are throbbing.  Time for drugs and sleep.