I was supposed to run the 12-miler on Saturday, but I was tired and cranky and it just wasn't a good day. So Sunday, I put on my running clothes. I drank lots of water. I had a bowl of oatmeal and a peanut butter sandwich. I watched a little South Park. And forced myself to hit the road.

It was a good run, despite the flooded sidewalks. I felt strong. My feet were sore and my boobs hurt; but other than that, I felt pretty good.

As I ran my last mile, I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window. Sweaty, soggy, red-faced, snot-nosed, girl covered in splashes of mud. Attractive. No one ever said running was a glamorous sport.