My feet are gross

After putting together my first five-mile run EVER this weekend, I took off my sneakers and went...
uck.

Not that I'm a pampered princess or anything, but my feet haven't looked this horrid since I played 12 months straight of basketball in high school. And even then, I rode the bench at least two nights a week, so my dogs got somewhat of a break.

We're two weeks away from the Broad Street 10 mile run. I'm in the best running shape I've been in a long time (not the best shape, per se, but best running shape). I'm proud of my mileage, and I'm proud of the mental blocks I've gotten past, including my go to "I hate running."

I hate running when it means I will or won't make the team. I hate running when I'm trying to impress someone else. I hate running when I force myself to keep up with another person I know I'm not fast enough to run with. I hate running when I'm not running for me.

Two weeks behind in my training, there's a big push to make in the next 14 days. If I can't run 7 or 8 miles by this weekend, I may be in trouble when it comes to finishing 10 miles in under the three hour mark.

But no matter if I make it or not, my pedicure appointment will be a great reward for the work put in.