Stuff Realtors Don't Tell People and The Chris Farley Diet

I honestly don't understand how I can get out of shape so fast. I took a week off, and I can barely run a mile without dying. I dropped the '97 Ford POS off at the garage to fix a flat and my AC, and I ran home. It's only .96 miles according to mapquest, and I followed the exact route that mapquest plotted. 7 minutes and 42 seconds later I'm in my kitchen trying not to throw up a lung in the sink. I had fun though as I ran through the ghetto. I guess not many people jog in the ghetto because I got some funny looks. I wasn't running fast enough to be running from the police, but I was running much too fast to be on my way to the liquor store. I'm not white so I probably wasn't running for my life, so what the hell was I doing? I love living where I live. I'm less than a mile from 8 figure homes on the river and less than a mile away from HUD housing -- only in Florida. I'm running in something called the Tour de Pain this weekend. It's three races in 24 hours, but the total distance is less than nine miles so it shouldn't be too bad. I will not be running 8 minute miles. My goal is 12 minute miles. If I get beaten by a group of mall walkers then I get beaten by a group of mall walkers. West Virginia set me back. Apparently, I tend to gain weight if my meals consist of 2500 calorie breakfasts paired with 2500 calorie dinners, and the only exercise I get is pushing a baby stroller around a ghost town. Who knew?