Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Scritch. Thump. Scritch. Scritch. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Scritch.
Thus endeth the literary form of the soundtrack of my run on the treadmill. The scritches are where my shuffling turns into stumbling. Its all terribly exciting and happy, happy, joy, joy. Unfortunately for the nice lady running next to me, I don't think it was all joy today. I'm sure that between running and attempting to rub her eyes from the stinging and burning, she was thinking that I should have been wearing this shirt....
Sincere apologies from me, and the breakfast burrito
4.75 in 50:00.